A Transylvanian Wizard in Hogwarts
by Morgaur
Summary: As the title says. A Transylvanian wizard, just reaching fourth-year, is transferred to Hogwarts just as Harry begins his fourth year. Rated T for future violence and gratuitous usage of an enchanted i-Pod. Slytherin Harry. Relationships uncertain, but probably either OC/Fleur or OC/Daphne. Harry/anygirlwhohappenstocatchhisf ancy. ABANDONED! but may be rewritten one day.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, here's my shot at breaking into the Harry Potter Fanfic world. Not precisely a self-insert, but a first-person OC. The first part of this chapter is a little dull, but it provides invaluable backstory. Well, hope you lot enjoy this. Read and review, read and review. Even if you flame.**

* * *

It was thirty years ago now that it happened.

I had been studying at the Zápolyai Academy of Sorcery, in the Carpathian Alps, for four years. I had risen rapidly to the top of each of my classes, proving myself one of their most adept students, and one fulfilling completely the promise of his heritage.

I am Vladimir Rákóczi, scion of the ancient Rákóczi family of Transylvania, one of the oldest wizarding families. Our lineage can be traced back hundreds of years to Sigismund, ruler of Transylvania in the late sixteenth century; on my mother's side I am the sole male heir of Vlad Ţepeş, the Impaler, ruler of the same in the fifteenth century, known better as Dracula. Our family has always been what, in other oh-so-civilised countries, is termed Dark. We lean more to the old ways, the older, more powerful, magic that is feared due to its power and potential. Mark my words, though. We do not go in for needless Mudblood hating, as our, well, equivalents in other countries do. We see nothing inherently wrong or inferior in having Muggle blood in your veins, as long as you have magical ability. Our ranking of people is entirely according to their magical ability, power, and prowess. For this reason alone we regard Muggles as the inferior race. Of humans, that is. Any human, ipso facto, is higher than the highest non-human magical race. They are all inferior to us, in varying degrees. Centaurs first, then goblins, then house-elves. Then the rest. The exact ranking is too long to be listed. Of course, though we consider them inferior to us, we nevertheless give respect where it is due. For my part, I respect the centaurs' wisdom and knowledge, and the goblins' cunning and skill. I cannot respect a house-elf, though. For all that they do, I cannot respect that which regards servitude and slavery as the pinnacle of honour. Veela are a class apart. I, personally, consider them human - but human with a touch of, perhaps, Daoine Sidhe blood, and therefore equal to any hereditary wizarding family. That is my opinion, one which is shared to a lesser extent by my relatives, and not at all by the majority of the wizarding world. But then, I am biased.

I digress.

As I said, I had been studying at the Zápolyai Academy for four years. During my time there, I had risen through the student ranking tables to be top of each subject in my year. With me as their secret weapon (though not really secret), my House rose to victory in the Inter-House Championships year after year. The Championships were dependent on two things: one, the prowess of the students in their subjects; and second, the Houses' performance in the Duelling Tournament. It was very much what it sounds like, with teams of the best duellists from each House being selected, so that were four duellists from each year. The teams then fought it out over the course of the academic year, in a series of set events. One-on-ones, team events, survival bouts…whatever the teachers chose. The victors won the crown, and usually the Inter-House Championship as well. From my second year, I was the Champion Duellist for my age-group, though in my fourth (and last) year there I also proved myself a match for the sixth year Champion. I believe that, in more 'civilised' countries, a Quidditch Tournament takes the place of the Duelling Tournament. I cannot imagine why. Think how invaluable such a thing would have proved in the crisis that occurred almost thirty years ago in Britain!

My apologies. I digress again.

At the end of my fourth year, just after I'd turned fifteen (ten is the starting age), my father made a decision that changed my life. He decided, with the advice of my teachers, to send me to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in England.

This came as a surprise to me, but I quickly appreciated the reasoning behind it. My progress at the Academy had been swift and prodigious, and I was close to exhausting the resources available there. The Academy, while ancient, was nonetheless narrow in focus and taught very few subjects. Thus, for a pupil such as I, who was of distinguished stock and had such talent as I had shown, the choice of moving to Hogwarts was a sensible one. Therefore, I was not too upset to do so.

Furthermore, Zápolyai Academy is boys-only, and I had come of the age when the society of girls is increasingly attractive. What can I say? I was fifteen, and due to my upbringing mature for my age.

I was enrolled at Hogwarts that very year, 1994.

What follows here, told through the eyes of my fifteen-year-old self, is the tale of my life in Hogwarts, and my role in the (now legendary) story of Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, the boy-who-duels-with-dark-lords-and-lives-to-tell-the-tale, the chosen one…the only person I have known who managed to beat me in a game of wizarding chess. The most cunning bastard I have ever known - and the first true friend I ever had.

* * *

I leant back in my chair, resting my head on the edge with a sigh.

"**Are you all right?"**

I raised my head, meeting the Travel Minister's gaze.

"**I'm fine, sir."** I replied. **"Just a bit tired, that's all."**

I was sitting in the Minister's office, waiting for the portkey that was to take me to England to activate. It - an old rag - was lying on a polished coffee table in the centre of the room. My father sat opposite me on a plush sofa, back straight, hands on thighs, very correct. His eyes met mine for a moment, then he glanced away, staring at a fixed point about three feet above my head. Very formal, my father. Prince Ferenc XI Rákóczi. Affectionate in his own, reserved, way. Wants me to grow up hard as nails, but still lets me have what I want - as long as I put a good enough case for it, that is. You can guess how good that's made my persuading skills. When I bother to actually ask for anything, that is. I've got plenty of money of my own, what with me being the heir of Dracula and all. Plenty in a new vault at Gringotts, too.

My (now previous) headmaster, Professor Míhaly Apafy, sat next to my father, leaning back, hands behind his head. He caught my eye and smiled.

The Minister sat behind his desk, on my left. He cast a tempus.

"**Another five minutes."**

I nodded. In five minutes, I would take my trunk in one hand, the rag in the other, and I'd be whisked off to arrive in England in only a few seconds. I'd be travelling alone. My father doesn't believe in mollycoddling. He wouldn't even be here if my mother hadn't made him.

My mother is, in personality, well and truly the daughter of Dracula. Well, the daughter of the son of the son of...you get it. I inherited her light brown skin, long, thick black hair, long eyelashes, and delicacy of features. From my father I inherited height (I'm just under six foot), a Roman nose, flyaway eyebrows, a thin mouth and blue eyes. According to my mother I'm a good looking boy. According to my father I look too much like a girl with my shoulder-length hair and long eyelashes. I don't know who to trust.

I glanced at my watch. Two minutes left. My watch is a nice thing. It's small, round, and made of obsidian. Or at least the case is.

There should be a Ministry of Magic official waiting for me at the other end, to smooth out the paperwork and get me to Diagon Alley, where I will stay for three days until it is time to board the Hogwarts Express. Should be interesting. I wonder if my cat has got to England yet? I sent her off by courier four days ago. Much as I'd like to, I can't take her with me like this. Too much to hold on to. Good thing I learnt English at the same time as Romanian when I was young. I can speak fluent English, but with an accent. It's unfortunate that in England they have laws prohibiting underage magic usage. Here it's so much better. Underage magic usage is monitored - hexing is reprimanded or fined - but allowed. Makes things like packing or cleaning one's teeth so much easier.

Of course, I suppose I could just not go along with those laws…but it would be best if I did. After all, I will be a guest in their country, won't I?

The rag flared blue.

"**Ah!"** The Minister rose from his chair and came round his desk. My father and I stood up almost at the same time, him smoothly and without fuss, me getting my right leg caught in my robes - I'd had it across my left knee.

The Minister held out his hand. I shook it. He's one of those people who have limp handshakes that make you feel as if you're holding a piece of cold buttered raw fish. Headmaster Míhaly clasped my hand firmly.

"**Good luck, Vladimir,"** he said. A sudden grin flashed across his face. **"We might be seeing each other sooner than you think!"** Huh?

"**Sir…?"** I began, but he shook his head, still grinning like a young schoolboy.

My father gripped my shoulder briefly. He looked into my eyes - we're about the same height - nodded, and stepped back.

"**Remember who you are."**

I smiled. So like him. Not going to see me for ten months, and all he can say is 'remember who you are.' Sounds like a line from a cheap film. Yes, I watch Muggle films.

I bent down, took hold of my trunk's handle, and straightened up again. A deep breath, then I reached out and gripped the portkey rag.

I had a last glimpse of my father's stiff, impassive face, then the room spun away from me in a flash of colour.

* * *

My feet hit the floor and stayed still, but my body kept spinning. I ended up sprawled on the ground, my arm twisted painfully and my trunk upside down. Most embarrassing. Not something I have much practice in.

I began to scramble up and nearly poked my eye out on a hand that suddenly appeared in my field of vision. I clasped it anyway, and was hauled to my feet by its owner, a tall, bald, black-skinned man.

"Thank you," I said, suddenly and painfully aware of my accent. Not too thick, but still noticeable. I straightened my tangled robes and messed hair. I hate appearing in any manner except immaculate.

The man smiled.

"Don't mention it. Older and better wizards than you have problems with these things." Yeah, right.

He proffered his hand again. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror from the Ministry of Magic."

I shook hands. Good, firm handshake, he has. Auror? Guess father pulled a few strings.

"Vladimir Rákóczi. Pleased to meet you." I replied.

"Same to you," he said. "Locomotor trunk," he added, flicking his wand at it. It rose into the air and floated about a foot off the ground. "If you will follow me to the office, I will deal with your paperwork." Now why didn't I think of using a Suspending charm? Come to that, why not a Shrinking charm?

Oh yeah.

I can't use magic here.

I glanced around me as I followed him. We were in a huge hall, over fifty metres wide and about a hundred metres long, with a roof enchanted to look like the sky above. Or it might just have been glass. A massive clock on one wall said the time was five-thirty. According to the sky, it was five-thirty in the evening. All around, people were appearing, clutching portkeys. Very gratifying to see almost all of them falling over. The few who didn't invariably looked over sixty years old.

"Is this an arrivals hall, then?" I asked.

"The Central and Eastern European Arrivals hall, yes." Kingsley replied. We reached a recessed door with a sign on it reading 'Staff Only.' He tapped it with his wand and it swung open, revealing a long corridor with numerous office doors along it. We entered the third one on the left.

There was a desk in the middle of the room, a sofa along the left wall, and a fire burning in a grate opposite.

"Please, sit down," Kingsley said, gesturing at the sofa. He swept over to the desk and pulled a sheaf of parchments and a couple of quills out of his robes. "Now then. These are your entry papers into the UK. I," he separated them on the desk into two piles and pulled on towards him "as the receiving official, sign these, and you," he handed me the other pile and a quill "need to sign those."

I took the parchments and spread them out on my knee. Always read the small print - you don't want any nasty accidents.

About half an hour later, I'd finished. Kingsley was looking faintly annoyed at the time I was taking, but who cares?

It turned out that I could use magic in the UK after all. There was an agreement I had to sign which bound me not to, but I could get away without signing it if my legal guardian sent a letter within a week, signed in the presence of three witnesses, guaranteeing that I was responsible enough to use magic even though I was underage. Better get my father to send that as soon as possible.

"Now," Kingsley said, putting the parchments back inside his robes, "I will take you to your rooms in Diagon Alley." He went over to the fireplace, took down a jar of Floo powder from the mantelpiece and offered it to me.

"Just say The Leaky Cauldron. I'll follow you directly." Oh dear. Floo travelling. Another thing I can't keep my balance at.

I took a pinch, tossed it in the flames, and stepped into the green blaze with a cry of "The Leaky Cauldron!"

A brief smoky whirl later and I was tumbling out of a fireplace onto a hard wooden floor, winding up on my back for the second time in an hour. I barely had time to roll out of the way and stand up before Kingsley was popping out of the fireplace with my trunk. I watched in envy as he stepped lightly out onto the floor, still with scattered soot from my undignified tumble. Grr. My immaculate reputation is in tatters.

I glanced around. It looked as if we were in a parlour or something. An inner room of an inn.

A stout man in an apron bustled in, a huge smile on his face.

"Hello, Tom," Kingsley said. "Brought young Vladimir over from the Portkey International."

He turned to me.

"Vladimir, this is Tom the barman. Tom, Vladimir Rákóczi." Tom bowed from the waist, hands clasped in front of him.

"Welcome, young Lord," he began, but I cut him off.

"Please, just Vladimir. I don't like ceremony." I said, feeling slightly embarrassed. I'm just glad he didn't use my actual, full, title: Prince Apparent Vladimir Rákóczi of Transylvania, Heir Apparent of Dracula, Lord Ţepeş, Hereditary Count of Wallachia and Heir Presumptive of the Duchy of the Carpathians.

Tom looked a little surprised, but he nodded as if that was to be expected.

"Well, I must be off," Kingsley said, letting my trunk down on the ground with a clunk. It's a heavy trunk. Solid, hundred year old oak with steel bindings and a very large and very complex magical lock on it. No-one but me is going to be opening that with any ease at all. My father once tried to pick it, and failed. Good thing too. He'd have found my porn collection.

Kingsley turned to me.

"Goodbye, Vladimir, and good luck." I shook his hand again, thanking him, and then he stepped back into the green flames and vanished.

Tom flicked his wand at my trunk and made it follow him out of the room.

"Come with me, Vladimir," he called over his shoulder. "Your room is this way." I followed him out of the parlour and up two flights of rickety stairs to a room under the eaves. Quite a nice room, too.

"There you go. Dinner is at seven, and if you need anything there's a bell rope here, by the door." He paused in the doorway, hand on the handle. "Is there anything you want right now?" Uh…

"If I could have a hot drink?" I asked. I'm feeling a little tired.

"Certainly," he replied. "I'll bring something up in a jiffy." With that, he was off, shutting the door behind him, bustling downstairs with a clatter.

I stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Window on one wall, dresser underneath it, armchair next to that, sloping roof so that the highest part is on the opposite wall to the window, large cupboard against the wall opposite the door, mirror and sink next to it. Bed and bedside table against the last wall, and on the bed a mound of black fur with bright yellow eyes and pricked ears.

"Inishka!" I cried, squatting down. My cat uncurled herself and bounded over to me, rubbing her head against my chest as I scratched her chin and stroked her back. Loud purring filled the room. Odd. I call her a cat, but she's almost the size of a leopard. People have mistaken her for an escaped panther before. Can't imagine why.

"Ah, yes." Tom's voice startled me. I hadn't heard him come back up. "She got here the day before you did. Very smart cat you've got there. I took her to your room and she just stayed there - except when it was mealtimes. Then she'd come down and scrounge food off the guests." Heh. Inishka is like that. She has a way of getting people to do things for her.

Tom put a steaming mug down on the bedside table. "There you go. My best hot chocolate. Very good for reenergising people. Anything else you need?" Well, I do need to send that letter to my father.

"Yes," I replied, standing up, "I need to send a letter home, so if you could tell me where the Post Office is?"

Tom went over to the window. "If you look out here," he said. I followed him over and looked where he was pointing. "Down there is Diagon Alley. Now, if you go that way" he pointed with a stubby finger, "about ten minutes walk'll bring you to the Post Office. You can't miss it."

"Thanks, Tom." I said, making a mental note of which way he pointed.

"Of course, sir," he said, going out of the room again.

I picked up the hot chocolate and took a sip. Mm. Good. I carried it over to the window and sat down in the chair, putting the cup on the dresser top. Inishka jumped onto my lap and curled up, purring low in her chest.

Well, now I have three days to kill in Diagon Alley, then it's onto the Hogwarts Express, with all the excitement (shudder) that will bring.

But first, a little music. I pulled out my Walkman (enchanted before I left so it will work in Hogwarts), plugged in my headphones, and hit play.

* * *

**Just so you know, this is at the beginning of book four. So he's joining the fourth-year at Hogwarts at the same time that Harry goes in. Slytherin Harry, as exemplified by Big D on a Diet's What Would Slytherin Harry Do fic. Go read it, it's awesome.  
Anyway, I have never managed to put anything on these authors' notes that is actually relevant and it looks like I won't this time either. Just one thing: I'm thinking of making this a Fleur-mance. Alternatively, a Daphne Greengrass-mance. See what you think when I put the rest up. Expect one-a-week updates, for three or four weeks anyway.  
Read and review folks, read and review. Again.  
Morgaur**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey people. I had a chapter ready, so I thought I'd put it up now. By the way, I have not a single review...whyyyy? Want reviews, want want want! Anyway, I realised last night that this story is set in the early nineties but Vladimir has an iPod. Well, this is an alternate universe where nineties tech is equivalent to modern twenty-first century tech. Cool? Enjoy.  
EDITED: Now a Walkman. :)**

* * *

I awoke, sweating and trembling, from a nightmare involving a monstrously grotesque thing crushing me in a vice, to find that Inishka was sleeping on my chest. I pushed her off and she jumped down with a disaffected meow.

Sunlight was shining in through the window, illuminating floating golden motes of dust. I lay there for a couple of minutes, watching them twirl lazily in a delicate dance through the air to classical music. When 'The Blue Danube' finished playing from my Walkman, I sat up and turned it off.

I stretched and yawned. What do I have to do today?

Post the letter. That's about it. Excellent.

I got out of bed and padded across the cold wooden floor to the sink. Ugh, I look terrible this morning. Pale and drawn, hollows under my eyes. I really did not sleep well. Also, I must remember that Firewhisky and tea do not mix well.

An hour and a half later, after a wash and a hearty breakfast, I was shown how to enter Diagon Alley. Tap the brick that is three up and two across from the top of the dustbin in the back yard of the Leaky Cauldron. Neat hiding.

I must say, Diagon Alley is impressive. The wizarding area of Bucharest is quite dingy and dark, all tall and gloomy sixteenth century buildings and crenellations. This is so different. A riot of colour and noise, so many things being sold from so many shops - it's bewildering.

I stood in the archway for a couple of moments, taking it all in. Then I plunged in, walking swiftly up the street in the direction Tom had pointed me in. Just as he said, about ten minutes brought me to the Post Office, where I sent the letter off on a premium-class owl - a large eagle owl - for a Galleon and two Sickles. I also sent one off to the Romanian ambassador, just in case. Total cost: one Galleon and six Sickles. That reminded me - I wanted to check my vault at Gringotts.

It took another five minutes or so to find the bank, where I was particularly amused at the rhyme written on the inner doors:

"_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take, but do not earn_

_Must pay dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there."_

I don't think anything can be a better deterrent than a maddened, spell-proofed bull locked in the vault. I researched. Nine out of ten vault-crackers in prison back home said they'd agree. Seriously though, it's obviously a new addition. I mean, if it had been written three hundred years ago the spelling would have been very different. To test this, I asked one of the goblins standing outside.

"Yes, sir, this is a new building," he replied. "Built in 1947, after the previous one was destroyed in a fight against a group of German secret agents." There you go.

I went inside and glanced around for a free goblin behind the counter. Looks like I came on a busy day. Queues everywhere. I went to the shortest queue, behind a woman with flaming red hair who had with her a couple of children with hair the same colour. Almost immediately, more people joined the queue. I glanced behind and saw a tall, silver-blond man and a boy who seemed to be about my age, evidently his son. They were both looking at the people in front of me with expressions of deep disgust. One of the children in front of me, a boy who also seemed my age - I guess it's people getting money out of their vaults for their kids - glanced back, saw the two behind me, stiffened, and immediately started whispering to his mother. Hmm. Family feud, maybe?

The red-heads left the queue, following a goblin towards one of the dozens of doors leading off the hall.

"Next," said the goblin behind the counter. I took a step forwards, but the man behind me stepped smoothly past me and took my place. The boy with him gave me a sneering smirk.

Well, I'm not standing for that!

"Excuse me, sir," I said sharply, tapping the man on the shoulder. "I believe I was first, sir."

The man looked faintly surprised.

"I would not have thought that anyone could claim precedence over the Malfoys," he replied coldly. "As I have not seen your face amongst those of the British pureblood families equal or outrank us, I do not see how you can be so presumptuous as to deny me my superior rights." Oh, I see. One of those disgusting, intolerable, pureblood supremacists. Well, see how you like my ace in the hole, bitch.

I drew myself up, putting on the most aristocratic and supercilious air I could - which is pretty impressive. Having Royalty (well, near enough) for a father can be of quite a lot of use.

"I beg your pardon, sir," I retorted haughtily, "but I would ask you to moderate your tone and observe the proper courtesy when addressing the Prince Apparent Vladimir Rákóczi of Transylvania, Heir Apparent of Dracula, Lord Ţepeş, Hereditary Prince of Wallachia and Heir Presumptive of the Duchy of the Carpathians." At the same time I pulled from my robes and thrust in his face the Heir's Seal, which I have to carry around everywhere, even though the damn thing is the size of my fist and weighs a ton.

He was quite literally bone-white with shock when I'd finished. It was almost as if he'd been rooted to the spot.

"Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to vacate my place and return to your own?" I hinted, putting the Seal back inside my robes. He fumbled a bow, trying to move out of my way and make his son bow as well while still bowing, all at the same time, babbling an incoherent apology as he went. There was some involuntary, quickly stifled, clapping for a second or two, while I stood where I was, staring at him down my nose as he bowed and scraped his way back into the queue behind me.

Then I turned and faced the goblin behind the counter, who had been watching all this with twinkling eyes.

"I'd like to see my vault, please." I asked, politely, fishing a small golden key out of my robes and putting it on the counter. The goblin picked it up and inspected it carefully.

"Very well, your High-"

"Not 'your Highness', please," I interrupted. The goblin looked taken aback, as well he would be. After all, that is the correct honorific to use. "Just Vladimir will do, or Master Rákóczi if you must. I don't like to stand on ceremony. Most of the time, anyway." I added, shooting a glance over my shoulder. The unfortunate Malfoy looked terribly uncomfortable, while the younger alternated between shooting spiteful glares at everyone around him and looking as if he would much rather be dead than there.

The goblin gave me a knowing smile.

"Of course, Master Rákóczi. I will have someone take you down right away." He snapped his fingers and another goblin popped up so fast I almost thought he came out of a hole. "Skarlath, take Master Rákóczi down to his vault, number eight hundred and ninety-three." The other goblin - Skarlath - saluted and led the way to one of the doors. I looked back to see the elder Malfoy heave a sigh of relief and stride forwards with such dignity that it was obvious that he was trying to compensate. Overcompensate, more like.

Skarlath led me through the doors into a dark rocky tunnel. Quite the contrast to the marble of the hall. There was a small metal truck in front of us, on rails that vanished into the Stygian darkness beyond. He got in and motioned for me to follow. I was barely aboard when it set off so fast I almost fell out. We went rattling down winding tunnels that went deeper and deeper, spiralling at times down the sides of deep chasms before shooting into a narrow crack in the rock, going at a speed so fast I had to cast a warming charm on myself to avoid wind chill. Quite suddenly we stopped with a jerk that precipitated me onto the rim of the cart, cracking my nose painfully.

"Vault eight hundred and ninety-three," Skarlath announced to the air where my head had been. I stood up slowly, clutching my nose.

At least it wasn't broken or bleeding.

I got out of the cart after Skarlath, who was already standing on a narrow ledge in front of a large steel door. The number '893' was written on it in gold letters.

"Key, please," Skarlath said, holding out his hand. I fumbled in my robes and gave him the key.

"I will also need the Heir's Seal," Skarlath added, holding out his other hand.

I pulled the gold-leafed chunk of metal out and handed it to him. He faced the door and put the key in the lock. He turned it, twice. There was a clunk and a fist-sized hole appeared in the middle of the door. He put the Seal into that, there was a flash of white light, and the door opened silently, rising up into the roof. Skarlath handed me back the Seal with a bow. "Your Seal, Master Rákóczi."

I took it and put it back into my robes. "Thanks, Skarlath." I said, with a nod, as I went into the vault.

It was pretty big, easily the size of the family sitting room in the Rákóczi Palace back home. Over seventy feet long and forty feet wide, with an arched ceiling ten feet high at the lowest point. Neat columns of Galleons and Sickles marched the length of the room in regimented rows, each column five feet high and twenty coins in diameter. Knee-high mounds of Knuts interspersed the pillars of gold and silver. I looked around and grinned. Most of this is from my own, as opposed to my family's, estates; namely, the principality of Wallachia and the estate of the Ţepeş family.

I pulled my money pouch from my robes and flicked my wand out of my sleeve with a snap of my wrist.

"_Wingardium Leviosa," _I muttered, levitating exactly five hundred Galleons and a thousand Sickles into the pouch. Good thing it has an Infinite Volume charm on it, as well as a Weightlessness charm. What with the stuff already in it I don't think it would retain its structural integrity more than a spilt second if the charms stopped working. I added about fifty Knuts to it - hardly ever use them, they're so small - and turned back to the doorway.

"Okay, Skarlath," I said to the goblin, who was staring into space on the ledge - literally. "I'm done; you can lock it up now." He glanced up at me and nodded. I clambered into the cart and held on tight to the sides as he closed the door and locked it again. "Your key, Master Rákóczi," he said, holding it out. I reached out to take it, but it was just out of arm's reach. I had to let go of the cart with both hands and stand up to take it, at which point he hopped into the cart and it shot off instantly, making me lose my balance and fall flat on my face on the floor of the cart. My key tinkled next to my hand. As I sat up, gingerly feeling my nose, Skarlath commented: "You certainly seem to have balance problems, Master Rákóczi." His face was perfectly straight when I glanced at him sharply, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that suggested different.

"You don't say," I muttered darkly.

I emerged into the sunlight of Diagon Alley five minutes later, and promptly glanced at my reflection in the bronze doors of Gringotts. Phew. My nose was not broken or swollen. I touched it carefully and winced. It was sore, though.

Still, I've had worse. I remember a time - in my first year - when I got hit by three Punching hexes at the same time. Left me with four broken ribs. Painful.

I went down the steps into the street and looked around. Time to explore, I thought, screwing my headphone into my left ear and putting my Walkman on to play.

The shop front wasn't much to look at, all dingy and faded. A peeling sign over the door proclaimed it to be: _"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC."_ Again, an evidently new sign. Well, newish. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the window. I thought I may as well get a new wand. The one I already had was much more suited to cursing and duelling, which was what the courses at Zápolyai Academy were inclined towards. I needed one that would be better for charms and what have you.

I pushed the door open and went in, pausing my Walkman and popping the headphone out of my ear. A little bell jingled faintly in the depths of the shop. Rows upon rows of dusty boxes, right up to the ceiling, lined the walls. The place looked like it could do with a good _Scourgify_.

"Can I help you?" a quiet voice inquired, just behind my right shoulder.

I turned round sharply, to see an old man with wide, moonlike eyes watching me.

"Uh, yes, sir," I said. "I've been transferred to Hogwarts from the Zápolyai Academy in Transylvania, and I think I might need a new wand."

The old man - Ollivanders himself, I assume - smiled. "Ah, yes, Zápolyai Academy. Tell me, is Apafy still working there?" I realised he was right next to me, measuring my arm with a snakelike tape measure.

"Professor Apafy? Yes, he is headmaster now." I replied. The measure was on its own now, measuring my ear hole width while Ollivanders flitted about the shelves, touching boxes but not taking any down.

"Headmaster, is he? Good, good. Sold him his first wand, about forty years ago now. Mahogany, ten inches, good for transfiguration and hexing." He turned suddenly and pointed at the tape measure, now measuring my eyelash length. "Stop that," he snapped, and it crumpled to the ground. "Now then, Master Rákóczi, if I could see your present wand?" He held out a long-fingered hand. Now how did he know my name? I don't recall mentioning it.

I flicked my wand out of its holster and laid it in his hand. He held it up close to his eyes, half-closing them and tilting his head back. His fingers moved along it, almost caressingly, touching it all along its length.

"Hmm. Black walnut, dragon heartstring, a lot of strength and power. Best suited for duelling purposes, transfiguration. Yes, perfect for the Academy but not so much for Hogwarts. Interesting...very old, yes, very, and something else...I cannot make it out, not yet...Now." He handed it back to me abruptly, flitting back to the shelves the second he did. He was back barely a second later, holding out a wand. "Here, maple and dragon heartstring, try?" I took it and twirled it round my fingers, handing it back with a shake of the head. He darted off again, this time coming back with a "beech, phoenix tailfeather" which also did not work, then a "yew, unicorn tail" and an "ash, hippogriff feather" in quick succession. He seemed to be delighted the more I refused, coming back with about a dozen wands, one after another, each different, each not right. One of them had a mermaid hair core, another sphinx mane. Finally I found one that 'fit', so to speak. It was ebony, ten inches long, with a dual core of griffon feather and unicorn hair.

"Good for charms and tricky spells. Griffon feather gives power, unicorn hair gives control and finesse." I was tempted to ask what OS it had, but thought better of it. I paid twelve Galleons and two Sickles, and left. I was conscious of Ollivanders's pale eyes watching me until the shop was out of sight.

I looked at my watch and discovered, to my surprise, that it was five in the afternoon. I was suddenly conscious of the fact that I had not eaten anything since breakfast, and to my knowledge, dinner at the Leaky Cauldron would be served at seven. I decided that I may as well buy my books, seeing that I had some time to kill and so wandered off in search of Flourish and Blotts, which I had been told was probably the best magical bookstore in the UK.

While browsing the shelves after picking out the books I needed, I came across a small black-bound book titled, in gold writing, _Malus Codensis. _Evil Codex. I picked it up and looked over it. Certainly looked old. The writing was in archaic English, too. I picked a passage at random and read it out mentally.

'_Ferrus Halos. A spelle of much powere ynd dangerosnesse. Ye yffects of ye spelle yre lymyted onlie by ye desyr of ye castere. Ye spelle causes ye vyctym to expyryence payn greyter than anie other, yxcepting ye spelle known ys Cruciatus. Yf ye spelle ys sustyned for a tyme yxceedyng fyve mynutes, ye vyctym ys lyabll to suffere his headd yxplodinge.'_

Well, that sounded brutally effective. Ferrus Halos. Iron Halo. Hmm. I made a mental note to test that someday.

Just to be on the safe side…I flicked out my wand - my old wand, tapped the pages, and murmured _"Muestra edad."_

The number 1647 slowly coalesced out of dust motes in the air, then dispersed. More than 300 years old. That seemed legit. I added it to the pile of books I was Suspending behind me - using my new wand for that. Breaking it in. I couldn't find anything else interesting, so I took my books over to the till and paid. Thirty-nine Galleons five Sickles for the schoolbooks, but sixty-two Galleons for the _Malus Codensis_. Expensive. And I had to use my rank to get it. They didn't want to sell it to me. Something about being too young. Pah. I may be fifteen, but I am certainly not a child. No fifteen-year-old from Zápolyai Academy is. Especially not a three-year Champion Duellist.

I checked my watch again. Six-thirty. Book shopping is certainly engrossing, if nothing else. It helped that the place had so many books. I set off back to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner, then out into the Muggle world for a film night out. The Hobbit, so I heard, was very good.

I sat in Florean Fortescue's Ice-cream Parlour, Walkman in pocket and headphone in left ear, dipping absentmindedly into a large chocolate-strawberry sundae and annotating the pages of _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade Four)_, by Miranda Goshawk. It was my last day in Diagon Alley. Tomorrow, I'd be on the Hogwarts Express.

Truth be told, I wasn't really looking forward to it. Being alone and more or less free to do as I wished had it's perks. Not that I wasn't able to do that at home, but back there everyone knew me as 'the prince' and treated with me with the respect due to my rank. Here, no-one really knew who I was, so they treated me as an ordinary person.

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade Four)_ was, frankly, disappointing. Most of the sections I already knew and had mastered, like the entire Transfiguration section - seven chapters worth. The whole year's work, basically. The only redeeming feature was the Charms section. That I hadn't done. In fact, I was beginning to suspect that I would need the _Grade 3_ and possibly even the _Grade 2_ books to get level in Charms. I scribbled a note on the margin of the page to that effect. Then I added another to remind me to get the _Grade 5_ book as well. At least I could get ahead in Transfiguration to make up for my anticipated poor performance in Charms.

Potions also looked easy. Quite a bit of the stuff I had already done. I'd actually brewed a Draught of Living Death - which according to the specification is OWL work for next year - in my last year at the Academy. I never got to use it, though, which was a loss.

Defence Against the Dark Arts - now that subject should be a joke for me. After all, I've done it all - from the opposite side.

Herbology - like Charms, a subject I have hardly touched on.

Care of Magical Creatures - does having a herd of Thestrals in the Ţepeş estate count as prior experience? Probably not, seeing as how I know nothing about them, beyond the facts that they are awesome and that you can only see them if you've seen someone die.

I glanced at my watch. Five-thirty in the afternoon. Better get back to the Leaky Cauldron now. I put two Galleons on the table, closed the book and left the shop.

As I walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, I noticed the Malfoys heading in the opposite direction, this time with a tall blonde woman, probably the mother of the boy. The elder Malfoy saw me and headed towards me. What does he want, I wonder?

"Your Highness," he began, "I wish to apologise to you for my action in Gringotts. I did not mean to cause offence. I mistook you for a person of lesser standing."

"Mr Malfoy," I replied, emphasising the Mister and deliberately not removing the headphone from my left ear. "Let me assure you that by performing such an action, under the impression that you were bypassing a 'person of lesser standing', you have offended me beyond imagining. That you could mistake Lord Ţepeş, the Prince of Wallachia, Heir to the Princedom of Transylvania and the Dukedom of the Carpathians, and Heir of Dracula, for an unprivileged person is an insult which will take much effort to forgive. Let you be thankful that I have not challenged you to a duel, as is my right and privilege, according to my rank and to my position as Champion Duellist of the House of Rákóczi. However, I assure you that if you venture to speak to me again without being first spoken to, then I surely shall do so. Good day to you, Mr Malfoy." With that, I carried on walking, ignoring him and his family completely. As I turned the corner, I looked back to see him standing where I left him, his wife patting him on the back and his son glaring after me.

Serve him right, the filthy pureblood supremacist.

Oh, despicable me.

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**No, I don't like Malfoy. Deal with it. Reviews!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys, new chapter. Not as long as the others, but don't worry. In case anyone is wondering, I'm not Romanian.**

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A knocking on the door roused me from a fitful doze. I straightened up in the chair, rubbing a crick in my neck, and called out: "Come in!"

The door opened and Tom's face showed.

"The car from the Ministry is here, Master Rákóczi." Excellent.

"Thank you, Tom. I'll be down presently," I replied, pushing Inishka off my lap and standing up.

"Very good, Master Rákóczi." Tom said, and went downstairs. I glanced around the room, making sure that I'd got everything. My trunk was by the door, shut and locked. My Walkman was in my pocket, my two wands in arm holsters on my right arm. That's everything.

I flicked my new wand out, pointed it at my trunk and said: "_Locomotor trunk._" It rose gently into the air and hovered two feet above the ground. I went downstairs, Inishka at my feet, the trunk following me down. I bumped my heels against it several times.

Downstairs in the main barroom, I found an expressionless man in an ill-fitting Muggle suit, who touched his bowler hat when he saw me.

"The car is outside, Master Rákóczi," he said quietly. I nodded and turned to Tom, who was behind the bar, handing a filthy-looking midget of a man a pint of beer.

"Thank you, Tom," I said. "My stay has been most agreeable."

"A pleasure, Master Rákóczi," Tom replied, with a dip of the head. I turned and went out of the Leaky Cauldron behind the Ministry representative, who was lugging my trunk the normal way. As I went I heard the midget say: "Talks funny, don't 'e?" to which I faintly heard Tom's response: "Less of that, Fletcher. He's Royalty, he is." I didn't catch Fletcher's comeback. Pity. It would have been, though vulgar, memorable.

The drive to King's Cross Station took over ten minutes, during which time the Ministry man remained silent and expressionless. Boring. At least I had Inishka and my Walkman with me.

When we got there, he got out, heaved my massive trunk onto a trolley and said: "The platform number is Nine and Three-Quarters. Just walk at the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten, and you'll get there." With that, he got back in the car and drove off.

Talkative guy.

I pushed my trolley into the station and headed for Platforms Nine and Ten. I noticed the Malfoys heading in the same direction. They hurriedly moved as far away as possible to avoid me. I saw the wall in question and headed towards it. There was a guard standing near it, but he was looking the other way. Jut in case, I pretended I was checking the time, standing right next to the wall, and side-stepped smoothly through.

'Impressive' was my first thought, as I emerged onto a massive platform beside which a long train stood. 'Backward' was my next, when I realised that the scarlet engine at the front was a steam engine. I mean, in France they use TGVs, and elsewhere in the UK itself trains are mainly diesel or electric. Steam is a bit of an anachronism. Maybe their budget just isn't big enough. Or maybe it's nostalgia. Anyway.

I glanced around me as I made my way towards the train. Students and their families milling everywhere. I noticed the red-haired woman a fair distance away, with four redheaded kids around her. She appeared to be a rather productive woman.

I used _Locomotor_ again on my trunk, lifting it out of the trolley and onto the train, much to the surprise of the kids around me. Well, no point in _dragging_ it around everywhere. I made my way slowly down the carriages, looking for an empty compartment. Inishka seemed to take a fiendish delight in winding round everyone's legs as we passed. Quite a few of them jumped, and one or two girls squealed when they realised that a leopard sized cat was sniffing their knees. Finally I found an empty carriage and went in. Up went my trunk onto the rack, and I sat down in the best seat - the corner seat next to the window, back to the engine. Inishka curled up under the seat. I looked out of the window at the milling crowds outside. Dozens of goodbyes and farewells floated in through the partially opened window. I felt a momentary pang of jealousy - where are my parents? - but I ignored it. Seriously, it's much better this way. You get to pick your compartment.

The whistle blew and the train started off with a jerk. Well, seems like I've got the compartment to myself.

I pulled my Walkman out of my robes, unplugged the headphones and set it to play, leaning back in my seat, hands behind my head. In the absence of anyone likely to complain, listen to music without headphones.

Autograph: Turn up the radio was on, and I was headbanging gently to the chorus (_Turn up the radio/I need the music, gimme some more_) when the compartment door opened and several people in Muggle clothing entered.

A slender boy with glasses and long black hair in a ponytail came in first. I noticed a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.

Harry Potter? The Boy-who-lived?

He was followed by another boy, this time with curly black hair and black skin – no racism intended; a tall, very attractive girl with long brown hair and a predatory look; and a short girl with blonde hair and an amazing bum.

Because I felt like it - and because I really liked the song, and didn't want to stop it - I ignored them and left it playing.

I noticed them looking at each other with raised eyebrows, and the brown-haired girl made a motion towards me, but the ponytailed boy (probably Harry Potter, but I'm not going to stop this song even for Dumbledore or Merlin himself) shook his head ever so slightly. They heaved their trunks up onto the racks and sat down, all but the brown-haired girl on the other side to me - the brown-haired girl sat in the other corner on my side. The ponytailed boy sat directly opposite me, arms crossed and right leg up on left knee. He leant his head back and watched me with a faintly amused face.

I kept headbanging to the music, my facial expression unchanged. Whoever these people are - more to the point, whoever this boy is - I am certainly going to enjoy knowing them. Very few people would respond to what I'm doing like this. Especially with the music loud enough to almost rattle the windowpanes.

Finally the song finished, and I hit pause on my i-Pod before it could pick another track.

The ponytailed boy spoke before I could.

"Great song, but you know that's not going to work at Hogwarts, right?"

I grinned. "Oh, this one will. Enchanted it before I left home."

He smiled and held out his hand.

"Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you." Ah. Well, the scar is a small giveaway.

"Vladimir Rákóczi," I replied, shaking his hand firmly. "I'm a transfer student from the Zápolyai Academy in Transylvania."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Interesting. I've heard of the Academy. They say it doesn't have a Quidditch tournament like all the other schools."

I shook my head. "No. We - they, now - have a Duelling tournament." I grinned slightly. "I was Champion Duellist for my year three years running." I glanced at the other people in the compartment. "Going to introduce me?"

"Oh yeah," he said, flashing them an apologetic smile. "This guy here" he punched the other boy in the arm "is Blaise Zabini, closer than a clam but a great sidekick; the really short girl next to Blaise" she scowled at him "is Tracy Davis, best brain in Slytherin and best derriere in the school; and the Ice Queen in that corner" he pointed across at the brown-haired girl "is Daphne Greengrass, the most dangerous girl you'll ever come across. She may be pretty, but there's a reason why she's got almost two feet of space around her." I nodded at each of them in turn. Blaise grinned at me, Tracy gave me a smile, and Daphne just nodded shortly.

"So, are you all from the same House or different ones?" I asked.

"Same House," Harry replied. "The best House. Slytherin."

I raised my eyebrows. "Wasn't that the House that Dark Lord - whatshisname - Voldemort came from?"

As soon as I mentioned the name, all of them apart from Harry flinched.

"Don't say his name!" Tracy hissed. Why not? What's in a name?

Harry sighed. "Guys, enough, all right? I say his name, okay?"

"Yes, but you're Harry Potter, goddamnit. You have a right to say it!" Tracy shot back.

"Uh, people, calm down." I said, holding up my hands, palms outward. "It's just a name. It's like being afraid to say, I don't know, dentist or something."

"Exactly my point," Harry tagged on.

"Back home in Romania, we had our own Dark Lord type person not too long ago. 1973, as a matter of fact. Peter Thököly. He was a vicious psychopath. Almost half of Romania was under his reign of terror at one point. We still don't know how many people he and his followers killed, but we think it's maybe five thousand at least. We're still finding bodies, even today. But we never, not even at his peak, gave him a title or a different name. Fear of a name increases the fear of the thing itself. We never feared his name - and, in the end, we defeated him. Big battle, in the dead of winter when he thought no-one would move against him. Over two hundred of our best wizards died fighting him and his followers. But we beat him, and we put his head on the highest pole we could find." By the time I was finished, Blaise's eyes were slightly glazed and Daphne was inspecting her nails moodily. Tracy, though, was listening with rapt attention, and Harry was looking at me thoughtfully.

"So, you're saying that because you didn't fear his name, didn't call him something like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you managed to beat him?" Harry asked.

"Pretty much. It wasn't only that, of course, but that was a major factor. Because the people didn't do that, their fear was less because they believed he was just a mere human like them, so they fought him." I replied. He wasn't just a mere human, though, he was perhaps the Darkest wizard since old Ţepeş himself, who is now a legend and revered a bit instead of feared. And that's saying something.

Harry looked as if he was going to ask another question, but the door slid open suddenly and he looked up. He made a small noise of disgust, which was echoed by the rest.

I looked up as well when I heard that, and saw the younger Malfoy's sneering face in the doorway.

"Hello, Potter," he began, and then he saw me. His words choked in his throat.

I tilted my head to one side.

"Observe etiquette, Master Malfoy," I said calmly.

He looked as if he was going to have a seizure, but he managed to force out the words: "Greetings, Your Highness."

I inclined my head slightly, then working on the assumption that they don't want him here any more than I do, I said: "Leave my presence, Master Malfoy. It is not required here."

He glared at me for a couple of seconds, then gave the briefest of bows and backed out, slamming the door so hard one of the panes broke.

"Master Malfoy," I called. He stiffened visibly and clenched his fists, but opened the door a crack. "Repair the damage, and close the door properly." I ordered. I wondered whether the idiot would ever realise that, not being a member of the British Royal Family, I didn't actually have the authority to order him around?

Apparently not, because he did exactly what I ordered.

Harry and the others all gave me odd looks.

"Not a friend of yours, I hope?" I asked, and was answered by vigourous head-shaking.

"Definitely not," Harry replied. "But how in the name of Morgana's saggy tits did you do that?" I quirked an eyebrow at his choice of swearwords, and was just about to answer when the door opened again and the redheaded girl I'd seen in Gringotts and then on the platform walked in, followed by another girl with a mass of frizzy brown hair.

"Hi, guys," the redhead said. "We just passed Malfoy on the way here. He looked so mad he didn't even stop to say hi." She noticed me and paused for a moment. "Who's the new guy?"

"Hi, girls." Harry said. "Vladimir, meet Ginny Weasley" he pointed at the redhead "the most Slytherin Gryffindor I've met, and Hermione Granger" he pointed at the other "Gryffindor's braniac and Tracy's mortal enemy." Both Tracy and Hermione glared at him then at each other, and Hermione sat as far away from Tracy as possible. Ginny sat down next to me, as Harry continued, "Girls, meet Vladimir Rákóczi. He's transferred from - where d'you say?"

"Zápolyai Academy," I said, helpfully.

"Yeah, there. Anyway, he's the one who just pissed Malfoy off. He just looked at him and…"

Hermione suddenly interrupted him with a gasp. She leapt to her feet and curtsied gracefully.

"Sorry, Your Highness," she said, "I didn't…"

"Stop it," I interrupted. "Don't do that. I really don't like it."

She stopped mid-sentence and sat back down, eyebrows raised.

Harry was looking in confusion between the two of us.

"Okay," he said, "what the hell is going on?"

I sighed. "Well, not meaning to brag or anything, but my proper title is the Prince Apparent Vladimir Rákóczi of Transylvania, Heir Apparent of Dracula, Lord Ţepeş, Hereditary Prince of Wallachia and Heir Presumptive of the Duchy of the Carpathians." I glanced around; everyone was staring at me with wide-open eyes. "However," I added, "anyone who treats me as such or refers to me in that way will spend the entire school year in the Infirmary. I am fully capable of doing that - I did it to a sixth-year back in the Academy when I was in third year - and girl or not, Boy-who-lived or not, I will do it again." That snapped them out of it.

"The whole year?" Blaise said, disbelievingly. "That's nine whole months longer than Daphne's record!"

"Oh yes," I replied. "The whole year. Ten months. If you don't believe me, I can demonstrate on you…" I trailed off significantly, flicking my old wand out of its holster and pointing it at him.

"Oh no, I believe you," he said hurriedly.

"Good." I said. "Now, can we change the subject? Tell me about the Houses. I'm wondering which one I'll be Sorted into."

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**Come on guys, give me critical reviews. What did you like, what did you not?  
Anyway, Vladimir is not a male Mary Sue. He's not ridiculously over-powered, just talented. Wait till he gets into Charms.  
Cheers  
Morgaur  
PS: Yes, I know the song is new, but Im using songs I know rather than ones I don't. Kay?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys. Not good at opening author noes, so...  
Oh: back-edited to being a Sony Walkman rather than an iPod. :)**

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The train journey seemed all too short in their company. We progressed from discussing the Houses (I hope I'm in Slytherin, or at least Ravenclaw. If I'm in Hufflepuff I think I might just go back to the Academy) to talking about Quidditch - where I held my head high over Transylvania's 390-10 defeat of England, to just random chat over card games galore. Eventually, with the sun beginning to set behind thick grey storm clouds, the others stood up and began to change into their robes, Ginny and Hermione heading back to their compartment. I stayed where I was, watching Harry and the rest struggle into the voluminous folds of their black robes.

Being who I am, I have to wear wizarding clothes all the time. You never know when a petitioner, back home might approach you. It's so much a habit that I kept on my wizarding clothes even during the three-day stay in Diagon Alley.

They were just sitting down again when Inishka put her head out from under my seat, yawned hugely, then came out fully and stretched.

"Big cat," Harry commented.

"Isn't she just," I replied, pushing her down when she tried to climb onto my lap. She adopted a compromise, putting her paws on the seat next to me and rubbing her head against my chin.

Tracy was staring at her with adoring eyes.

"So beautiful," she breathed, putting out a hand to stroke her fur. "What's her name?"

"Inishka," I replied, pushing her down. She promptly rounded on Tracy and started doing the same to her.

Blaise shook his head. "Is that even a cat?" he asked. "It looks more like a panther to me."

I chuckled. "Oh, Inishka is definitely a cat. Just a very big one."

"No kidding," Daphne said, staring at Inishka's front paws, which were kneading the seat, claws out, as Tracy scratched under her chin.

I made a face.

"Inishka!" I called, sharply. "Get down." She put her paws down on the floor and her head on Tracy's lap. "_Reparo,_" I muttered, pointing my wand at the torn seat.

Inishka suddenly rolled over onto her back, legs curled up, right forepaw batting at Tracy's robes.

"She must really like you," I said, glancing at Tracy. "Never seen her do that to anyone but me before."

"I have a way with animals," Tracy replied, bending down to scratch Inishka's belly.

"She certainly does," Harry said to me. "At Hogwarts we call her the…" Tracy smacked him over the head just then, in a burst of motion that made me jump and Inishka run under the seats.

"Oh dear," Tracy cried, and went down on her hands and knees to get her out again. Harry rubbed his head ruefully, staring down at her rear end as he said, in an injured tone, "Come on, Tracy, there was no call for that. I was just going to say Animage."

"Yeah, right." Tracy's voice drifted up from under the seat. "Come on, Inishka darling, come out."

The train slowed to a halt, well, slowly.

"Hogsmeade Station," Harry said, standing up. "Come on, let's go."

I followed the others out of the compartment and onto the platform. It was dark, chilly, and raining hard. I was suddenly glad of my thick, Transylvanian, winter cloak. Also of the in-woven water-repelling runes.

"Firs' years over here!" I heard a voice bellow, and glancing round saw a massive man with an enormous bushy beard beckoning a crowd of scared looking children towards him with huge waves of a moleskin-coated arm.

"Who is that?" I asked Daphne, who happened to be nearest.

"Hagrid," she replied, and moved away. I blinked, none the wiser, but feeling that here might be an interesting challenge. Getting close to Daphne, that is.

Deciding that perhaps Tracy would be more forthcoming, I went over to her. She was having difficulty walking, as Inishka kept winding round her. I had to stifle a laugh at the sight of the four-foot-eleven witch stumbling over the two-foot-seven cat, just avoiding the puddles.

"Tracy," I asked, "who is that guy? I asked Daphne, and she just said 'Hagrid' and walked away."

Tracy raised an eyebrow. "She actually answered you? She must like you then. Normally she won't even look at people who ask her a question, apart from us, that is. Anyway, that's the groundskeeper and teacher of Care of Magical Creatures. We think he's half-giant, but we can't be sure." She glanced round and saw Harry beckoning some distance away. "Come on," she said, "we'll drown or miss the carriages if we don't hurry." She made to walk towards Harry, but tripped over Inishka and nearly fell if I hadn't caught her arm and steadied her.

"_Locomotor Inishka,_" I said, flicking my new wand at her. She floated up into the air, and after a few struggles lay passive on the air as she floated along behind us.

Tracy shook her head at me. "Do you always treat her like that?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I replied.

We reached the others, now joined by Ginny and Hermione, and went quickly down a flight of steps off the platform, Blaise and Harry laughing at the sight of a floating, drenched Inishka and the other two girls protesting violently against my treatment of her. Daphne stayed near the rear and ignored everything that happened. As we rounded a corner, I released Inishka who promptly tripped Tracy up again, narrowly missing a puddle.

I helped her up and re-_Locomotored_ Inishka.

Harry nudged Blaise in the side and said, in a stage whisper, "Looks like Vladimir's fallen for our little pixie here." I raised an eloquent eyebrow. Just then we rounded another corner and I stopped short. In front of us was a long line of large, wooden carriages. But that was not what surprised me. What surprised me was what was harnessed in the traces.

"Thestrals?" I said.

Harry and the others looked at me quizzically.

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked. "There's nothing in the traces."

I didn't bother answering, just went forwards and patted the neck of one of the Thestrals, which snuffled at my hair.

"Vladimir," Harry said, coming up and putting his hand on my shoulder, "there's nothing there. The carriages are enchanted, they run on their own." In reply I took his hand and put it on the Thestral. He blinked in surprise, and then ran his hand slowly over the Thestral's neck.

"Guys," Tracy called, from inside the carriage. "Get in before you drown, they're about to leave."

We climbed into the musty, damp-smelling interior, where I discovered that the only seats left were either side of Daphne, Harry having just sat down in the only unoccupied one not near her, which happened to be next to Ginny. Ah well. I sat down on Daphne's right.

"So," Harry said, looking at me questioningly, "what was that?"

"A Thestral," I replied, squeezing water from my hair as the carriage jerked into motion. "Like a Pegasus, but black with red eyes. I don't know much about them at all, except that to see them you have to have seen death and known it for what it was." I pointed at his scar. "You didn't see them probably because you were not aware of what occurred when your parents were killed."

"So when did you see death?" Hermione asked me.

I made a face. "A duelling match gone wrong. It happened in my third year. One duellist was winning - and these matches can be brutal - and the other said the first spell that came into his mind in a blind panic. That spell was _Iugula_, the throat-slitting curse. His opponent was not expecting it, and so did not deflect it. She died." I stopped, staring down at the trickles of water running across the floor. "It was…not pretty."

Daphne glanced briefly at me.

"So," I said, looking up and putting on a light-hearted tone, "that's where I saw death."

"Poor you," Ginny said, shaking her head. I noticed Harry stroking his chin, thoughtfully. Blaise saw it as well, and asked him what he was thinking about.

"Oh," Harry said, with a start, "just wondering how I could kill - better yet, get someone else to kill Malfoy in front of me so I can see Thestrals as well."

Everyone burst out laughing, I joining in with them, but more in relief than anything else. All the time, I'd been dreading someone realising the one thing I didn't say about the incident.

I was the losing duellist who panicked and killed the other.

"Vladimir," Harry said, when we'd all calmed down a bit, "you might want to put your hair into a ponytail, Professor McGonagall hates untied long hair." He pulled out a length of black cord and tied his back as he spoke.

"Professor McGonagall?" I asked, twisting a band round my own hair. "Who's she?"

"Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress of the school," Blaise replied.

"Yeah, and the strictest teacher you'll ever come across," Tracy added, scratching Inishka behind the ears.

"She's not that bad," Hermione protested, but Harry cut in: "Only to you because you've got practically the only brains in Gryffindor." He dodged a punch from Ginny and added hastily: "Apart from Ginny, that is."

And we rolled through the massive gates of Hogwarts and up to the marble steps.

A tall witch with a severe face and a high pointed hat stood in front of the doors, a gigantic umbrella over her head. I heard Harry suck in his breath sharply when he saw her through the window.

"Speak of the devil, Harry," Ginny said, laughing, "what did you do over the holidays that got McGonagall waiting on the steps for you?"

So that was Professor McGonagall, eh? She looked very tough.

"Plenty of stuff, but nothing she could know about," Harry replied without looking away from the window, chewing his lip nervously.

"Well, we'll soon see," Blaise said, grinning like mad.

The doors opened and we got out, Inishka flowing like a river of ink down the steps and promptly shrinking considerably as the rain instantly soaked her fur.

McGonagall came striding down the stairs towards us, robes billowing in the wind. She stopped in front of me and extended her hand.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Vladimir Rákóczi," she said.

"Thank you, Professor," I replied, shaking her proffered hand. I heard Harry give a muffled sigh of relief behind me.

"Don't sigh yet, Potter," she snapped, glaring at him as she led us very rapidly up the steps and through the doors into a huge entrance hall. "I heard about the incident with the flowers and the rat-catcher. I want to see you in my office before the feast."

Harry's face fell. "Yes, Professor," he muttered, and he went off through a doorway to the left, followed by a guffaw from Blaise.

"Now then, Mr Rákóczi," she continued, turning back to me, "you have not yet been Sorted, so you will not be able to go to any of the tables yet. Therefore, if you will please wait at the back of the Hall, just inside the doors, while the new first-years are being Sorted, then you will be Sorted after them. Is that clear?"

I nodded. "Crystal, Professor."

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further. "Good," she said. "I must get back now and receive the new first-years." With that she was off, striding out down to the huge lake round Hogwarts where I could just about make out through the pouring rain a fleet of small boats moving slowly across.

I glanced around the entrance hall. There were four huge hourglasses on the right wall, between a pair of gilded oak doors and a magnificent marble staircase directly opposite. The lower bulbs were empty, but the upper ones were full of gleaming jewels, each hourglass with a different colour. I was just about to ask what they were when a huge red water balloon burst on my head.

"Agh, fuck!" I yelled, staggering backwards and brushing my hair out of my eyes. "What the hell was that?" I snapped angrily at Daphne, who happened to be nearest.

"Peeves," she replied shortly. "Duck!" I ducked just in time to avoid another water balloon. It hit a round-faced, slightly pudgy boy in the face and knocked him over. I stared round for the source of the water balloons, spotting it in the form of a poltergeist in a belled cap and an orange bow tie.

I dodged another water balloon and flicked out my old wand, took careful aim and…

"_Gelidus!_" I shouted, and an ice-blue streak of light flashed across the gap between us. He froze instantly when it hit him, hovering motionless in mid air.

Blaise clapped me on the shoulder as a cheer went up from quite a few of the students passing through the hall. "Nice aim," he said. "Never heard that curse, what was it?"

"Gelidus, a freezing hex." I replied. "I'll teach it to you at some point." I glanced at the doors. "Right now I'd better do as Professor McGonagall said and stand by the doors like some kind of long-haired soaking decoration."

Blaise grinned.

"Good luck," Hermione said, as we went towards the doors.

"Seconded," Ginny said, with a grin. "Hope to see you in Gryffindor!"

Tracy gave her a shove. "No," she snapped, "Slytherin!" She turned to me. "You better be in Slytherin, Vladimir, I'd hate to see you so humiliated as to be in Gryffindor."

"Same here," Blaise chipped in. "Right, Daphne?"

Daphne looked at me for a second, then said: "Yes, same here. I hope you get into Slytherin."

Apparently this shocked the others, because they stared at her and Blaise gasped: "Daphne? Are you all right?"

She shot him a glare. "And why shouldn't I be?" she asked, her voice cold. Blaise flinched.

"No reason," he trembled.

"Good." She faced me just as we went into the Hall. "In Slytherin," she said. "Or else." Then she turned and strode off towards one of the four tables. The others followed, Blaise giving me a pat on the shoulder and Tracy a smile as they went in. Ginny lingered until they were just out of earshot, then whispered: "Gryffindor, okay?" before hurrying after Hermione.

I leant against one of the doorposts, Inishka deciding that perhaps she should stay with me, and looked around.

Impressive, I thought. Four long tables, covered in golden plates, goblets, etc., ran the length of the hall, students sitting on benches either side. Each table had colours hanging on the walls behind and in front: a massive golden lion on a red background - Gryffindor; a black badger on a yellow background - Hufflepuff; a bronze eagle on a blue background - Ravenclaw; and a silver serpent on a green background - Slytherin. At the top of the hall, on a dais, another long table faced the others; the teachers' table, evidently. I saw the famous Dumbledore sitting in the middle, long white beard tucked neatly under the table, chin resting on the tips of his long fingers. There were empty seats on either side of him, and in the seat one further down on his left there was a sallow-faced, hook-nosed wizard with shoulder-length greasy-looking black hair. I thought back to something my father had asked me to do: "There is a Professor there, of Potions I think, named Severus Snape. I met him some years ago. A sharp fellow, but difficult to know. Still, we were friends of a sort. Remember me to him, will you? You'll recognise him well enough; he has a yellowish complexion, a nose that is as hooked as it is long, and hair that looks like yours if you left it for a few years without washing it." He seemed to match the description well enough.

I glanced up at the famous enchanted ceiling. It didn't look like there was one there at all. Lightning flashed across it as a roll of thunder sounded from outside.

The doors opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall strode in, followed by a long line of tiny children who were absolutely drenched. I felt they might well have swum across the lake rather than sailed, or boated. She led them right up to the teachers' table and lined them up in front of it, facing the rest of the school. I noticed one, the smallest there, wrapped in a ridiculously huge black overcoat. Unlike the others, he seemed quite happy.

Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool on the ground in front of the shivering children, and put a hat on top of that.

I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen such a filthy old hat before. Not even the poorest peasants on the estates back home had hats that terrible. I noticed everyone was staring at it in total silence.

What happened next made me jump.

A rip near the brim opened wide, and the hat began to sing:

_'A thousand years or more ago_

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.'_

The hall rung with applause when the song finished, some twenty-eight lines later. I shuddered. Rarely had I heard a song so bad.

Professor McGonagall unrolled a large scroll and turned to the first-years.

"When I call out your name," she said, "you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool. When the hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table." With that she began to call out the names.

"Ackerley, Stuart" came first, and then the line began to dwindle away slowly until "Whitby, Kevin" was called and Sorted - into Hufflepuff.

Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," he said, his deep voice echoing around the hall. "I know you are all eager to eat and be rested from your journey, but though the Sorting is over we have still one thing left to do." He looked down the hall straight at me and beckoned. "I am pleased to welcome another new student to our school." I had been walking up the hall towards him, Inishka at my heels, the eyes of the whole school on me, as he spoke; I stopped in front of the table and gave him a formal bow, which he returned correctly. "Vladimir Rákóczi is a fourth-year transfer student from the ancient and prestigious Zápolyai Academy of Sorcery in Romania, and one of their most promising students." He gestured at the Hat. "If you would put the Hat on?"

I turned and picked the Hat up, putting it on my head in one smooth movement. It was slightly too large for me and it slipped down over my eyes.

A voice whispered in my ear, suddenly.

"Well, well. A Zápolyai student, eh? Interesting…yes. Where will you fit, then? Hmm…you have intelligence, yes, a desire to learn…but not for learning's sake, no…a hard worker, but I don't think you'd do for Hufflepuff, no…courage, plenty of that and hmm, chivalry as well, yes…but ambition, a cold and calculating mind…you'd do well in Gryffindor, no doubt…but perhaps…yes, I think you'd be best in…

"Slytherin!" the Hat shouted out to the hall, and as I took it off and put it gracefully back on the stool that Professor McGonagall then carried away, the Slytherin table burst into applause. Most of it, anyway. I saw Malfoy looking as if he was about to have a heart attack. Dumbledore made a gesture towards the table that I took to mean go, and so I walked down to the table where Harry pointed at the bench opposite him, where there was the two-foot space beside Daphne that I'd come to expect. I sat down, Inishka flopping down on my feet, and he promptly leaned over and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Well done, Vladimir!" he said, grinning hugely.

"You almost didn't get the chance to say that," I replied. "The Hat came within an inch of putting me in Gryffindor, but changed its mind at the last moment."

He nodded and then glanced back up at the table, where Dumbledore was still standing.

"I have only two words to say to you now," he announced. "_Tuck in_."

"Hear, hear," Blaise said, as the dishes, which ran down the entire table, filled with food.

I glanced at the different choices on offer. Roast chicken, roast lamb, steak-and-kidney pie, etc. I filled my plate with some of everything I could reach and started to eat.

"Good thing the Hat changed its mind," Daphne said, suddenly. Harry glanced across at her in surprise, fork halfway to his mouth. "It'd be a pity to have the only guy apart from Harry who's not afraid of me in another House. I wouldn't have as much chance to make him afraid of me then."

"Yeah you would, Daph," Tracy said, popping up from underneath the table next to Blaise, who sat on Harry's right. "You'd have open season to hex him all you wanted then."

"More this way, Tracy," Daphne replied. "Plus this way I get to play mind games with him as well. By the way, what were you doing under the table? Giving Blaise a blowjob?"

Blaise snorted with laughter and Tracy went slightly red.

"Of course not," she snapped. "I was just giving Inishka some food."

"So that's why I've suddenly got bone splinters in my shoes. I was worried my feet had shattered under her weight," I said, getting laughs from all around.

* * *

**Review?**


	5. Welcome to the Slytherin Common Room

**Meh.**

* * *

I relaxed on the bench, replete. Very carefully, so as not to offend English susceptibilities, I used a toothpick which I removed from my enchanted wristband-cum-pouch. Across me Harry noticed the slight flick of the wrist with which I produced the toothpick and raised his eyebrows.

"Where'd you get that from?" he asked.

I grinned and pushed my sleeve back in reply, showing him the two bands round my wrist.

"Enchanted," I said. "This one," I tapped the upper, "is my wand holster, the other is just an enchanted pouch for small items. Toothpicks, mints, that sort of thing."

"Cool."

Just then, Dumbledore stood up again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" he said, beaming round. "Now that we are fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full, I may say rather ridiculously so, list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, should any of you (for some curious and arcane reason) wish to view it.

"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

_"What?" _Harry gasped incredulously. He glanced over at a burly seventh-year student, Montague, who I had been introduced to over the course of the meal as the 'goddamned best Quidditch Captain Slytherin ever had' and who was staring up at Dumbledore in horror.

Dumbledore continued.

"This is due to an event which will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -"

A deafening rumble of thunder cut him off, and the doors crashed open hard on its heels.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. A lightning flash lit up the Hall with a momentary blaze of white light, casting his face as he threw his hood back into sharp relief. It was a face of nightmare. Seemingly carved from sea-weathered oak, it was riven with deep scars and the nose had a chunk missing. Set back in deep sockets, his eyes stared balefully out at the hall. One was small and beady, flicking from side to side. The other was massive, round as a coin, blue, and moving ceaselessly around. Right, left, up, down, right round to look out of the back of the head.

I recognised him from a visit he'd paid to my father, about six years ago, over some serious smuggling and murder crimes committed by a a man who had gone to ground in Transylvania. His name was Mad-eye Moody, an Auror of some repute.

He strode up to the teachers' table, a dull clunk sounding with every other step. He reached Dumbledore, shook his hand and  
muttered a few words in response to a whispered question, and sat down in the empty chair on Dumbledore's right. He pulled a plate of sausages towards him, raised it to his nose and sniffed it, then speared one on the point of a knife which suddenly appeared in his hand - I suspected wristband pouch - and began to eat.

"May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore announced brightly, "Professor Alastor Moody."

I clapped, but noticed that no-one else did apart from Harry, Dumbledore, and Hagrid, sitting massive and hairy on the far left end of the table. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody to do more than stare at him.

Whispers flew around the Hall. Daphne murmured, without taking her eyes off him: "So that's the famous Mad-eye Moody."

Blaise nodded. "None other."

"Didn't he catch something like half Voldemort's" everyone in hearing flinched "Death Eaters singlehanded?" Harry asked, ignoring the spasm that went round at the name.

"Something like," Tracy agreed, staring up at him.

"He's an awesome guy," I said. Harry stared at me.

"You know him?" he asked.

"Sort of. He knows my father. Came over once to catch some smuggler/murderer who'd tried to hide in Transylvania somewhere. That was amazing," I answered, a grin creeping across my lips as I remembered, "we hunted him with harpies through the mountains. A truly incredible sight and experience."

Harry and the others were staring at me now, ignoring Moody. Harry was about to speak, when Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Harry confined himself to a whispered "tell us later" as the headmaster began to speak again.

"As I was saying, we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year." He paused for dramatic effect, which was immediately spoilt by a loud voice from the Gryffindor table calling out: "You're JOKING!"

Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr Weasley," ("one of Ginny's elder brothers, Fred or George, can't tell which" Harry whispered) "though I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun who all go into a bar -"

Professor McGonagall and the hook-nosed Professor next to her both cleared their throats loudly and promptly glared daggers at each other.

"Er - but maybe now is not the time, no…" Dumbledore continued, looking slightly abashed. "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. Yes, it will most certainly be taking place here at Hogwarts this year - although, there will be one change. A new school, besides Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons, will be taking part, making it the Quadriwizard Tournament. Our newest student," he glanced at me, "will no doubt be both delighted and annoyed beyond measure to know that his former school, Zápolyai Academy of Sorcery, will be taking part in the Tournament from now on."

My mouth dropped open in disbelief. A multitude of thoughts flashed through my mind. Zápolyai? Taking part? That was what Apafy must have meant…he must have known! Agh - had I stayed I might have been Zápolyai's champion - I was easily one of the best choices - my curses and transfiguration skills were superlative, even if I was not that brilliant at the rest of my subjects…

My musing was cut off by Dumbledore's voice.

"The Tournament was discontinued after the death toll mounted to alarming levels, but now with the combined efforts of our respective countries' Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games, we feel the time is ripe for another attempt. This time, though, we have taken the most elaborate of precautions to ensure that no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The Heads of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Zápolyai will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the four champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard - now Quadriwizard - Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Blaise hissed across the table, and Harry grinned. "Same here!" he said, his gaze wandering slightly. I kept silent - I knew that I could not be the Hogwarts champion, as I hardly counted as a Hogwarts student, yet.

Dumbledore spoke again, and the whispers and chatter that had filled the Hall ceased immediately.

"Eager though I know you all are to bring the Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of the participating schools, along with our respective Ministries of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on the contenders from now on. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older, though for Romania (and thus Zápolyai) the age is fifteen or older - will be allowed to put their names forwards. This -" he had to raise his voice over the angry hum that had begun and mounted at the words 'of age,' Blaise looking positively murderous and Harry not far behind - "is a measure we feel is necessary, given the dangers and difficulties the Tournament tasks will pose, no matter the safety precautions. It is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them, though some of Zápolyai's brighter pupils, given its focus on the more practical and...aggressive aspects of magic, may well prove capable." He glanced at me again, blue eyes twinkling. "I am sure that Mr Rákóczi is feeling most annoyed at having left Zápolyai for Hogwarts, as it is likely that he would have been a shortlisted contender. I give him my, and ask you all to give him your, sympathy." There was a chorus of awws from all around the Hall, and I felt my face go slightly red. I was rather angry, though. They had to have chosen this year, of all years, to transfer me. I could have had a very good chance! Now I would not. Still, I reminded myself, I should always 'look on the bright side of life!' I'd have a much better education in the other fields of magic now. Small comfort, but then what would I do with more honour and glory? I've already got more than enough, more than is comfortable. Heir of Tepes is good enough for me. Neither do I need a thousand Galleons. I get ten times that each year, and that's just pocket money. I glanced back up at Dumbledore, who was speaking again.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Zápolyai will be arriving, as I said, in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your wholehearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to speak to Mad-Eye Moody as with a great scraping and clattering all the students got to their feet and swarmed to the double doors into the Entrance Hall.

Blaise was seething with annoyance.

"Only 'of age' students?" he complained, as we left the Hall and went down the massive marble staircase. "We won't be 'able to cope' with the challenges? What does he think we are, children or something?"

"Blaise, we are children." Daphne commented drily. She glanced at me. "Dumbledore's right about one thing, though. Poor Vladimir here really does deserve our sympathy."

Harry laughed and draped his arm round my shoulders, putting on a mock pity voice as he said: "What's the matter, Vladimir? Did you transfer at the wrong moment?"

I shrugged him off, grinning. "It doesn't matter. I know that if I was put in, I'd win the Tournament hands down, no buts about it."

"Modest, aren't you?" Tracy laughed, punching me in the shoulder. "Mind, the stairs are moving," she added, as the staircase we were on suddenly started moving to the right.

"Of course I'm not modest. Modesty is not a virtue. Why underestimate yourself?" I replied, taking hold of the banister. "It's as much a departure from truth as exaggerating your own powers. If you're good at something, show it. If you're bad at something, show it. But don't show off. There's a fine line."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What are you bad at?" he asked. The staircase stopped moving with a click and I followed them off it into a downward-sloping corridor. The contrast between the well-illuminated halls and staircases we'd just been going through and the dark, gloomy corridor we were in was quite striking.

"Plenty of things," I replied. "Charms, for one. It looks as if I'll need to take remedial Charms lessons to get to the same level. By the way, where are we?"

"In the dungeons," Harry answered. "The Slytherin quarters are under the lake. It's a bit of a walk, but I think the scenery makes up for it, don't you?" He finished just as we turned a corner and the dank grey stones of the walls and ceiling vanished, replaced by a view of the lake-bottom, almost like an aquarium. The effect was made more surreal by the fact that burning torches still lined the (invisible) walls at intervals.

"Whoa…" I murmured, gazing up through the swirling dark waters.

"Quite," Harry said. "They're enchanted, like the ceiling of the Great Hall. Okay, so there's not much to look at now, but on a clear day it's very beautiful."

"Anything else you're bad at?" Tracy asked, scooping Inishka up in her arms. The cat almost hid her entire torso.

"Well, Potions. I'm on your level at least, but I'm a bit of a slow worker. It's not that I'm bad at it, just that I take up three times as long as other people." I said.

There was an almost universal grimace.

"That might not be too good. Our Head of House is also Potions Master." Blaise said, twisting his lips. "He favours us, obviously, but he hates it when people take forever."

"Who is the Head of House?" I asked.

"Professor Snape," Harry replied, a look of deep distaste crossing his face. "The greasy-haired, hook-nosed guy sitting next to McGonagall."

"You don't like him?" I asked, thinking that it might cause problems if I passed my father's message on. Not too much, though.

Harry shook his head vigourously. "He's a git. Got it in for me because he hated my dad."

We arrived at a part of the wall that was not enchanted. It had a mural in green and silver, showing the snake of Slytherin coiled up, jaws open and tongue out. Harry leant forwards and said: "Dendroaspis polylepis." The snake's jaws closed and the wall it was on vanished, revealing a vaulted archway, a thick green curtain across the inside. Harry turned to me with a grin.

"Welcome to the Slytherin Common Room," he said.

It was a massive octagonal room, with a high domed ceiling and a flickering green pool in a shallow hollow the centre of the room. There were six fires, one in each wall except the one we'd entered from and the one opposite, which had two doorways in it, one opening to the right and the other to the left. Chairs were arranged round the fires, more chairs and tables were scattered round the rest of the room. Sofas ringed the pool, which reflected the light of a chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling. The floor was covered with a thick-piled green carpet, and banners with the Slytherin symbol lined the walls. The overall effect was quite pleasing. Comfort, but restrained comfort.

There were dozens of people sat about, talking quietly. I noticed Malfoy sitting at one fire with a rather stupid-looking blonde girl, a weedy sandy-haired boy and two boys who looked like clean-shaven gorillas. He glared at me when I caught his eye.

Harry went over to one of the other fires and sat down with a sigh.

"So, are you actually bad at anything besides Charms?" he asked, with a sly grin. "Or should I ask, what are you good at?"

I leant back and stared at the ceiling.

"Let's see. I'm probably no good at Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures, since I didn't take either back at Zápolyai. Same for Divination," ("who is?" Harry cut in) "and probably History of Magic." ("Again, who is?") "But I'm good at Transfiguration and Ancient Runes, plus a few other subjects which don't seem to be taught here."

"Such as?" Tracy prompted.

"Such as Ward Breaking, Conjuration, Cursing and Duelling, Element Manipulation, and the Dark Arts." I reeled off in one breath.

"The Dark Arts?" Harry said, surprised.

"Not under that name. We call it Sorcery, but it is basically the Dark Arts." I grinned. "It is going to be interesting, studying Defence Against the Dark Arts." My grin widened. "Especially as I was something of a prodigy at it."

I glanced round. They were staring at me, mixed expressions on their faces. Harry's, thoughtful; Daphne's, inscrutable; Blaise, awed; Tracy, interested.

Just then Montague dropped into an empty chair.

"Well," he said, "who'd have thought it? No Quidditch, but the Tri-sorry, Quadriwizard Tournament."

"I know," Harry agreed, turning to face him. "Are you going to put your name forwards?"

Montague grinned. "Of course," he replied.

We spent the rest of the evening chatting about the Tournament, wondering who would be the Hogwarts champion, and speculating about the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang schools. I gave them my opinions on the Zápolyai line-up, but I wasn't sure how the Zápolyai contingent would arrive. It's not something we ever did before.

At about eleven, we went to our respective dormitories. Girls to the left, boys to the right. The fourth-year dormitory had two rows of four-poster beds, one along each wall. Harry pointed to one at the far end.

"That's mine, there, in the corner. Yours looks like it's next to mine, Vladimir," he said, walking over to his. I glanced at his trunk, at the foot of his bed. It was a massive iron-bound monster, with three ridiculously complicated magical locks. Very similar to mine, except mine had quite a bit of personalisation on it and only one lock.

"Only one lock, Vladimir?" Harry asked. "Is that wise?"

I grinned. "That's no ordinary lock. It's biometrically coded to my signature only. There's also some really nasty surprises waiting for anyone who tries to pick it."

"Biometric?" Blaise repeated, blankly.

Harry glanced at him. "It only responds to him. It's a Muggle term."

"Oh."

Later, lying in bed with my curtains drawn, I reflected on the Quadriwizard Tournament. It was certainly a pity to be at Hogwarts and not Zápolyai, but then…what to do. I just hoped that Headmaster Apafy would pick a good selection of contenders. I betted that one of them would be Pietros Arkhalevsk, a seventh year student who was perhaps the best all-rounder in the Academy. He was tough and a formidable dueller. He also was bigheaded to an extreme, rude, loudmouthed, and terribly abrasive.

He was the sixth-year Champion Dueller who I'd beaten the previous year.

I grinned. If he became the Zápolyai champion, I'd have no scruples ensuring that Hogwarts won - or, at least, that the Zápolyai champion came last. Terrible, I knew, but my loyalties were no longer with the Academy but with Hogwarts.

I drifted off to sleep, and dreamt of flying. I was free…

When I woke up in the morning, though, I felt as if I'd had a shot of tequila followed by an ass-kicking.

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**Double meh. Read and review!**


	6. First Class - in more ways than one

**Meh. Disclaimer - Harry Potter belongs to J. , who can keep him for all I care. I'm just here for the fandom.**

* * *

I woke up early, with a splitting headache.

For a moment I couldn't remember where I was, and the thick green hangings round the bed didn't help. The snake emblazoned on the canopy jogged my memory.

I parted the curtains and got out of bed, slipping on my dressing gown which I'd hung on the bedpost the night before. It was a luxurious thing, made of vair and sable fur with black wolf pelt on the outside. The emblem of the Tepes family (a dragon rampant set in front of a mountain, crossed wands below) was embroidered on the back, and the symbol of Dracula (a crescent moon behind a castle on a peak, a hand holding a wand rising from between the horns of the moon) on the left breast. Just about everything I owned had either the Rákóczi or the Tepes coat of arms on it, except my school robes. I preferred the Tepes coat of arms (a shield argent, a dragon rampant sable before a mountain tenné, crossed wands sable base) to the Rákóczi (a shield or, a tree azure in pale, a fleur-de-lis vert in sinister chief, over a scroll in bar base, reading 'Honour above all, duty above honour, truth above duty') but I had to have them in equal amounts, being heir to both.

I walked over to the fireplace at the far end of the room and stared into the flames. They danced and crackled hypnotically, and I fell into a reverie about the Tournament, life at Hogwarts, and life in general, from which I was not roused except by Harry hitting me in the back of the head with a stream of cold water. I jerked forward and cracked my forehead on the mantelpiece, but my wand was already in my hand and a second later I was facing him, arm up and wand forward, in typical duelling pose, having cast a Thrusting spell (Trudere!) as I turned. Luckily for him a bed was directly behind him, otherwise he'd have kept moving until he hit the wall.

I lowered my wand sheepishly as he struggled to disentangle himself from the hangings and Blaise, whose bed it was, yelled blue murder while trying to get out from the collapsed canopy and get Harry off him.

Eventually Harry managed to extricate himself and stood up, straightening his glasses. He glared at me for a second, then burst out laughing.

I couldn't suppress a grin. It really had been funny.

"Sorry," I said. "Duelling reflexes."

Harry shook his head, still laughing.

Blaise finally appeared, a dusky red in the face and looking extremely annoyed.

"Who did that?" he demanded angrily. "Come on, own up, you bastard. I'll hex you into the middle of next week…" his words trailed off as I, starting to laugh in my turn, tapped myself on the chest with my wand. "Uh, never mind then," he said, "but why the hell did you have to throw Harry into my bed?"

Harry clapped him on the back. "Sorry, Blaise," he said, "my fault."

Blaise looked up at him, confused. "Your fault? How?"

Harry just grinned. "Never mind. Just don't try to prank Vladimir." He gave Blaise a pat on the shoulder and went back to his bed. He opened his trunk and pulled out a thick olive-green bathrobe. "Anyway, I thought it best to snap you out of your trance," he said to me over his shoulder, "because if you want a shower before breakfast you'd better hurry. Breakfast's at eight, and it's seven-thirty now."

I stowed my wand back into its holster and went to my trunk, taking out my own, black, bathrobe. "Show me where the showers are, then."

"Follow me," he said, and turned to leave the room. As he passed Blaise's bed, one of the tottering posts fell and narrowly missed him, landing on the floor with a crash. "Merlin's left ball, watch it Zabini!" Harry snapped, leaping back in alarm.

"Sorry, Harry," Blaise said apologetically. "Accident."

"What is going on here?" a drawling voice asked. I glanced up to see Malfoy, in a long green bathrobe, his blond hair plastered back and dripping wet. He'd evidently just come out of the shower.

"None of your business, Malfoy," Harry said evenly. "Take your nose out of our affairs while you still have one."

Malfoy glanced at each of us in turn. He raised a delicate eyebrow. "I'm not sure that you would say that to Professor Snape," he drawled. "He might take a low view of this damage to Hogwarts property."

Harry delved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wand - Malfoy flinched - and cast a Reparo at the bed. "What damage?" he asked.

I put in my own little contribution. "Professor Snape?" I said. "That'll be good, I need to give him my father's greetings."

Harry glanced at me. "Your father knows Snape?" Well, I thought, slightly. But there's no harm.

"Yes," I answered, "quite well. He's stayed at the Rákóczi palace before." About seventeen years ago, I added mentally.

Malfoy's face changed and he stepped into his section and pulled the curtains shut hard. Harry grinned. "Anyway," he said, "follow me, Vladimir. By the way," he added, "can we call you Vlad? It's much easier than saying Vladimir all the time."

I shrugged. "Sure," I said, "whatever you like. Just saying, though, I won't appreciate people calling me Vlady. It's annoying." I realised too late that that might have been a mistake, noticing the gleam that crossed Harry's face. "I'm serious, Harry. If you don't want to be cursed into the middle of next week, don't even try it."

He gave me a wide grin, which I didn't for a second trust. "Don't worry Vlad…I won't."

"Really."

"Oh, of course. Can't speak for Daphne or Tracy, though…"

"Bastard."

…

Breakfast in the Hall was loud. The babble of conversation filled the massive room, echoing off the ceiling and walls. Most of it was about the Tournament.

I was halfway through a plate piled with sausages, bacon, eggs and tomatoes when a loud whirring made me look up. A swarm of owls of all shapes and sizes soared into the Hall through a window, scattering across the tables. An exceptionally pretty snowy owl landed in front of Harry, who seized the scroll on its ankle and unrolled it rapidly. He read it swiftly, gave a sigh of exasperation and handed it to Blaise. He caught my eye and gave me an apologetic look.

"Sorry, private affairs, Vlad…y," he grinned.

I sighed into my sausages. "I told you not to…" I replied, "but since I'm eating I'll let it go."

"Did he just call you Vlady?" Tracy asked interestedly.

"Yes, and if you call me that you may find yourself tongue-less." I replied threateningly.

She raised her eyebrows at me.

"You'd hex a girl?"

"Yes."

"Watch your wand, Vlad," Daphne said suddenly and sharply, "or you may find yourself ball-less if you go hexing Tracy."

"That's below the belt," I protested.

"The best place to attack men in," she replied, taking a sip from her golden goblet.

"There's a story about that," Harry put in, "that's why she got the nickname of Ice Queen. This guy - won't say his name - tried to hit on her in third year. He ended up in the Infirmary with frozen balls, for three weeks."

I winced. "Three weeks with frozen balls?"

"Yep. He hasn't had a date since."

"Ouch."

Just then, there was a flapping of black leathery wings and a large bat landed on the table in front of me, raising its head to show a pouch attached to the collar round its neck.

Tracy gave a squeal of shock and nearly fell off the bench, and even Harry started.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Messenger bat," I replied, opening the pouch and pulling several letters and a newspaper out from it. "We use these quite a lot in Transylvania, Wallachia, and Moldavia. This is one of my own ones. I call him Tsar, because he's the biggest."

Tracy leaned forwards and stroked the bat's forehead with her finger. It gave an inaudible squeak and licked her finger.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I cautioned, opening the first letter. It was a large one, with the Tepes seal on it. "He bites."

She withdrew her finger quickly. I heard Harry start talking in an undertone to Blaise as I read the letter.

It was a report from the seneschal of Wallachia, detailing the latest revenues, expenditure, judicial decisions, appointments, etc. I skimmed over it, noting down a few items of expenditure which I felt necessary to chase up (five hundred Galleons for the purchase of a piece of artwork for the Entrance Hall of one of my residences - why do I need that?) and finally folding it up with a small sigh. This sort of official paperwork which I _have_ to take care of always annoys me.

The second was from my parents. A simple note saying that they hoped I'd arrived safely, reminding me to uphold the honour of the Rákóczis and the Tepes-s, and to write frequently. There was a postscript though: they were entering into marriage negotiations for me.

I made the mistake of reading that while drinking, and the subsequent spit-take left Blaise glaring at me with pumpkin juice dripping from his hair.

"Sorry, Blaise," I gasped, Vanishing the spilt drink. "Just a slight shock, that's all."

"Oh?" Harry said, interestedly, leaning over. "What about?"

I shook my head. "My parents have put me on the marriage market, that's what. Waited until I was out of the way to do it."

There was a beat of silence, then Tracy giggled, Blaise and Harry laughed, and Daphne smiled.

"Poor Vlad," Harry said, grinning hugely. "Your days of freedom are numbered."

"Yeah," Blaise added leeringly, "you'd better get as much casual sex as you can before you wind up with a wife."

I just shook my head at them all, and opened my next letter. It was from Apafy, my old headmaster. He apologised for not telling me about the Quadriwizard Tournament, and he hoped that I would not be too angry over not being still in the Academy for it. He concluded the short letter by saying that he might have a bit of a surprise for me when he came with the Zápolyai contingent. He also had a postscript.

"I hear that you have been put up for the marriage bidding. You can be assured that my daughter, Irene, asked me to enter in the bidding on her behalf, the second we heard the news. I, however, extend my condolences." I grinned at that. For one thing, Irene was two years old.

I laid the letters aside and gave Tsar a large piece of bacon.

"Go to the Owlery and rest," I said, scratching him under the chin. He gave a high squeak and took off with a flutter of leathery wings and a scrabbling of claws. I watched his distinctive shape soar out of the window and vanish.

Turning my attention back to my food, I unfolded the newspaper (the Wallachian Times, which I as Prince of Wallachia own fifty percent of) and started reading. The main headline was devoted to my transfer to Hogwarts; there was a none too fine picture of myself on the front page. I had been shot walking up the steps of the Tepes family mansion in Bucharest. My photographic self seemed to be too absorbed in trying to keep his robes neat in the wind than with taking notice of anything else. The rest was trivial.

"Timetables," Harry said, jerking me out of a reverie concerning the performance of the Wallachian Quidditch team, which was invariably a whole division lower than the Transylvanian team, and how it could be improved - after all, there's only so much money can do. They're all mounted on Firebolts already; what more can I do?

I took the copy he handed me and glanced over it.

"Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws first, eh?" Harry said, skimming down his. "Potions with the Gryffindors second, and third…" he broke off, grinning at me, "ominous roll of drums…Charms."

I groaned. "That will be humiliating."

Daphne patted my shoulder. "Don't worry," she smirked, "we won't tease you about it…the other houses might."

I shrugged. "I don't mind that much, but you can be sure that I'm going to be as good as any of you in just a few weeks."

"Good luck with that," Harry said, seriously. "Daphne is one hell of a Charms witch - gets higher marks than any other fourth-year."

"Challenge accepted," I grinned, making a show of cracking my knuckles.

…

"…so Malfoy wound up covered in dung, with a broken elbow, and about a month's worth of detention, not to mention losing Slytherin two hundred points." Harry finished as we rounded a corner and stopped outside the Transfiguration classroom's door.

Laughing, I said: "My sense of duellist honour is affronted - on the other hand, my cunning side is in awe. I'd never think of something so subtle."

"So why are you in Slytherin?" Blaise asked slyly. "After all, Slytherin is the house of subtle cunning."

I grinned. "Well, I'm not studious for knowledge's sake enough to be a Ravenclaw" I jerked my head at a group of Ravenclaws who had just come round the corner, "and I'm not foolhardily honourable for Gryffindor." I shrugged. "Slytherin is the closest approximation to what I am."

"And what is that?" a voice asked, behind me. I turned to see a rather attractive Chinese girl with long, straight, black hair standing at my shoulder - literally. Her head only just reached my shoulder.

"Hi, Harry," she added, smiling at him.

"Hey, Cho," Harry said. "Vlad," he clapped me on the shoulder, "meet Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, and a better Seeker Ravenclaw has not had for some time."

Cho blushed slightly.

"You know it's true," Harry said, grinning roguishly at her. Her blush became more apparent and she coughed embarrassedly.

Tracy nudged me in the ribs. "She's got a crush on him," she whispered, just loud enough for Cho to hear her.

"I do not!" Cho exclaimed, going bright red.

"Are you sure?" Tracy asked wickedly.

At that moment, the classroom door opened and McGonagall appeared, cutting the teasing off.

"In," she said, and we filed in. Daphne tapped my wrist and led me to a table at the front where she placed her textbook and indicated that I should put mine next to hers. Tracy and Blaise took the table on our right, and Harry took the table on our left, pulling a not-unwilling Cho with him.

Professor McGonagall strode to the front of the class and faced us.

"This year is a critical year for you," she said, her voice stern and hard. "Next year you will be taking your OWLs; therefore, this year you will be occupied in building a firm base for your OWL level Transfiguration. By the end of the year, I will expect you to be able to Transfigure a textbook" she took Daphne's and held it up "into three, completely different, things." She put the book back.

I raised my hand and she glanced at me, taken aback slightly.

"Yes, Mr Rákóczi?" she inquired. "You have something to say?"

"Pardon me, Professor," I answered, "but in the Academy that was the required goal for third-year Transfiguration; the fourth-year goal, which was my last year there, was to be able to Transfigure a table into five separate things."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"And can you do that?" she asked, sceptically.

For an answer I flicked out my new wand and turned the desk into a boar, a large tuna, and an oversize cauldron in quick succession, before reverting it to the table again.

"Well," she said slowly, "well."

She gazed at me for a moment, then collected herself and started speaking again.

"As I was saying, the goal for everyone _besides_ Mr. Rákóczi is to be able to Transfigure…"

…

The bell rang and people began to pack up, chairs clattering noisily and the hum of talk filling the room.

"Mr Rákóczi," Professor McGonagall said, "if you would stay behind, please?"

Daphne glanced at me. "We'll wait for you," she said, and stood up, leaving the room with the others, Cho finally breaking away from Harry and heading back to her friends.

I steepled my fingers and waited until the room had emptied.

"So, Mr Rákóczi," McGonagall said. "I see we will have to make allowances for you then."

I inclined my head, but said nothing.

"That you have reached the practical level for OWL work is evident; however, the OWL is also dependent on a written paper. Do you think that you are capable of writing an essay a foot long on the subject?"

I shook my head. "I doubt it, Professor. Zápolyai had a much more practical focus; the theory behind it was only necessary in so much as it enabled us to perform the spell in question. We were not tested on our theoretical knowledge. However," I raised a finger "with some practise I think it very likely that I should be able to do so in perhaps a month, if not less."

McGonagall nodded, slowly.

"In that case," she said, standing, "I think that you had better do so, and then you can spend your year studying ahead. If you sit at the back of the classroom so as not to be distracted, I think you could probably begin the sixth-year Transfiguration course. I will have to speak to the Headmaster, of course, but it is unlikely that he will refuse." She paused for a second, then smiled. "It's just a pity you're a Slytherin," she said.

Outside, Harry and the others were waiting, talking quietly amongst themselves.

"Vlad!" Harry grinned when he saw me. "That was some amazing wandwork there."

I shrugged. "Fairly straightforward for Zápolyai students of my level," I said.

"So causal," Tracy laughed, as we set off down the corridor to our next lesson, "just throws it out, you know. 'Fairly straightforward' like it's nothing special."

"Well, it isn't."

That provoked more laughter.

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**Meh meh meh meh mehhity meh. Meh.**


	7. Something's brewing

**Well, this is the (incomplete) eighth chapter that I started writing before thinking of rewriting, which is a completely confusing mess of writing, the word writing repeated too many times. Anyway, see what you guys think, and please see the next chapter as well – those are the rewrites. Cheers, all!**

The Hall was full of the sounds of chatter as the students ate lunch. I was keeping my head down, concentrating on my food, as Harry regaled a group of non-Slytherin friends, including Hermione and Ginny, with the account of my discomfiture in Charms.

"…and then Flitwick says, right at the end, 'You, Mr Rákóczi, are a mystery. You are unable to cast certain second-year charms, and many third-year charms, yet you are capable of using some much more advanced charms such as _Aguamenti_. I think, perhaps, that you need to take remedial lessons with me on a daily basis to round out your knowledge. After dinner, every day, for an hour.' " This was received by chuckles from all around, especially from those who had heard of my Transfiguration achievements.

I pointed my fork at Harry. "In my defence, the charms I know are all charms that I would be expected to use in a duel. I fail to see why a Prince would ever be expected to, or even need to use a food-heating charm, say, or a Cheering charm even."

"Fair enough."

That got me thinking, though, and I wondered about the effect an over-powered Cheering charm would have in a duel.

I was distracted by a couple of redheaded twins dropping by, sitting either side of Harry.

"Hey, Harry," one said, punching him in the shoulder and making him spill some of his drink.

"How are you, Harry?" the other asked, clapping him on the other shoulder, making him spill some more.

He glared at the two of them. "You'll pay for that, you know," he growled, then laughed and slapped them both on the backs. "How've you been, guys?"

He made a flourishing gesture across the table at me. "Guys," he said, "meet Vladimir Rákóczi," —

"Who prefers to be known as Vlad," Blaise butted in — "that's right," Harry acknowledged. "Vlad, meet Fred," he punched the one on his left in the upper arm just as he was pouring pumpkin juice into a goblet, "and George," he clapped the one on the right in the small of his back, "Weasley. The terrible twins and chief pranksters of Hogwarts."

"Also his chief dirty-jobs men," Fred grinned, shaking my hand.

"And inventors of dastardly devices," George added, gripping my other hand firmly.

"Nice to meet you guys," I said, extracting my hands with difficulty.

"Just had a lesson with Moody," Fred said, turning to Harry.

"Really?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. Around me people's heads turned as they tried to hear what the twins had to say.

"Un-be-lie-va-ble," George proclaimed dramatically, raising his hands in the air.

"Seriously," Fred continued, "he is amazing. He knows, man, he _knows._"

"Knows what?" Tracy asked, staring at the two.

"What it's like," George said significantly.

"What what's like?" Blaise queried, sounding mildly irritated.

"To be out there," Fred answered, "doing it."

"Doing what?" Daphne snapped sharply and the twins flinched, but recovered immediately.

"Fighting the Dark Arts," George replied, making a mock obeisance across the table towards her, "o Ice Queen."

"We apologise if we have annoyed your…_frigid_ Majesty in any way," Fred added, both leaping to their feet and darting off before Daphne could do anything.

Blaise pulled out his timetable.

"Yes!" he grinned, pumping a fist, "We have him tomorrow first thing!"

…

We filed into the dungeon classroom where Snape held his Potions lessons. Harry glanced around.

"Good," he said. "The slimy git's not here yet." With that he made his way to the back of the classroom, getting as far away from the table on the far wall as possible, before setting up his equipment. I put my things a couple of places away and began to unpack them. As I laid out my potion-ingredient preparing kit, I glanced into Harry's cauldron.

"Damn, Harry," I commented, "do you ever clean your cauldron out?" I jabbed the thick black residue inside tentatively with the tip of my silver dagger. "That really does not look good."

He glanced into it in surprise. "It's never been a problem," he said.

"If you say so," I replied, and went back to preparing my tools. It was a slight surprise to notice that many of my instruments were different to the others'; also, while I had anything they had, there were plenty that I had that they did not. Noticeable in their absence were such items as the — ubiquitous in the Academy — automatic ingredient adder, exact liquid dispenser, precise cutting apparatus, etc.

"How do you work without these?" I asked Daphne, who had decided that she was to be my table partner and was examining some of my tools curiously.

"Not really," she murmured absently, giving me the uncomfortable impression that she wasn't listening to what I said.

I decided to test this.

Waving my hand gently to attract Harry's attention, I motioned towards Daphne. He raised his eyebrows curiously and I grinned.

"I tend to add a pinch of powdered cow dung to my potions. It adds a bit of spice to them." I said to Daphne, making sure Harry could hear.

"I see," she replied vaguely, still focussing her attention on my instruments. She was now holding up a simultaneous infusion pipette, inspecting the four glass bulbs. Harry smirked slightly and made a questioning sign.

I winked at him and made a 'go ahead' gesture. He grinned.

"Daphne, you're in love with Vlad, aren't you?" Harry asked. I recoiled slightly at his words — the tales I'd heard over lunch about Daphne's antipathy towards men specifically and people in general were rather terrifying — and waited with bated breath for Daphne's response. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blaise flinch and Tracy cover her mouth with her hand in shock.

"I guess so," Daphne responded vacantly, putting the pipette down and picking up another instrument. I was just beginning to breathe again when she stiffened, halfway through the motion of raising it to what light there was. Watching her face from the side I could almost see her working out what Harry had just said. I noted a faint blush flicker across her face just before she put the instrument down gently on the table and rounded on Harry, who cowered in front of her.

"Well?" she asked, her voice deadly quiet. A shiver ran down my spine, but I quelled it. Dangerous as Daphne came across, I was willing to bet I was worse — even if I didn't show it.

Harry pointed across at me.

"His idea," he answered quickly, which made me frown.

Daphne rounded on me, brown hair swinging slightly forward to drape over her face a bit so that she glared at me through a thin curtain of hair. The overall effect was quite cute, though the look in her eyes belied the truth.

"Yes?" she hissed, her tone if anything even colder.

I made an 'innocent' face. "I didn't tell Harry to say that!"

Snape's flourishing entry cut off the incipient tiff. While the professor made a few preparations at the front of the class, now full with the arrival of the Gryffindors, Daphne glared at me and leant forwards.

"I'll speak to you afterwards," she muttered ominously, then turned to face Snape.

I did likewise, trying to measure up the man whom my father had befriended — an unusual thing, as my father rarely manages to make friends. Most people can't meet his standards.

I saw a tall, thin, greasy-haired, hook-nosed and sallow-faced man with an arrogant yet careworn expression on his face and an intelligent gleam in his dark eyes.

He stood at the front of the class and gazed dispassionately around. Mostly dispassionately, anyway. Malfoy got a faint smile, I noticed, while Harry got a look of utter loathing. When his gaze met mine I saw a calculating expression flicker across his face. I thought I understood; my father he knew, and well; but I had befriended Harry. He probably did not know what to make of me.

Eventually he spoke.

"I doubt that any of you will remember anything I taught you last year, unless you are an insufferable know-it-all." He glanced pointedly at Hermione and Tracy, who both flushed slightly. "As I mention each year, the subtle art of potioneering neither requires foolish wand-waving nor flamboyant incantations, but dexterity and the ability to exercise your little brains. These skills you will need today." He looked round again. "This first lesson you will brew for me a new potion: the Draught of Liquid Fire. This is an OWL level potion; I have set it for you to show you just what you will be facing next year." He glanced at a Gryffindor girl, who had her hand up. "Yes?"

"Sir," she said, "why are we brewing an OWL level potion when our OWLs are not until next year?"

Snape gave her a condescending sneer. "Did you not hear me, Miss Brown?" He strode over to her table and stared down at her. "I set you this potion to show you exactly what you can expect next year. It is my policy to begin preparing you for OWL level potions a year in advance, as precious few make it to NEWT potions even with extra preparation, since I accept only those students who have achieved an Outstanding at OWL level." He turned and strode to his desk. "The instructions," he waved his wand and writing appeared on the blackboard, "are on the board, the materials," he waved his wand again and the store cupboard in the corner of the room opened, "are there. You have until the end of the lesson; begin."

There was a concerted rush as people left their tables and hurried over to the store cupboard to seize the best ingredients. I stayed where I was, noting down the instructions carefully on a scrap of parchment.

"Aren't you going to get the ingredients?" Daphne asked, sounding coldly curious.

"In a minute," I replied, leafing through the textbook to find the corresponding page. She made a dismissive noise and joined the heaving press round the cupboard. I noted with amusement that they parted before her like the Red Sea.

Eventually, when I was certain of what was needed and had identified those ingredients that the book said might be needed, I stood up and went over to the cupboard, leisurely selecting exactly what I wanted. Then I returned to the table and laid the ingredients out neatly.

"You're five minutes behind everyone else," Daphne snapped at me.

"Perhaps," I answered calmly, "but at least I know precisely what to do, and I was able to choose the best ingredients without being rushed."

She made a face but did not reply. Methodically I prepared and added the ingredients as per the instructions.

I glanced round the classroom forty minutes later, having added the last ingredient and set the cauldron to brew, and was slightly surprised to see that I had actually finished before anyone else. It was odd, I thought, that I should be a slow worker at the Academy but a fast worker at Hogwarts. A smile quirked my lips as I reflected that my speed relative to the Hogwarts students was probably due to the extra instruments I had.

By the end, as Snape strode down the classroom, inspecting people's potions, I was one of only three who had finished. The other two, predictably Tracy and Hermione, were flushed and tired; I was immaculate, as usual.

Snape paused at my cauldron for several moments. Gently he picked up my precise slicer and looked at it carefully, turning it over and over. Then he put it down and looked at me.

"A word with you after the lesson, if you please," he said, and passed on.

I glanced at Daphne to see what she made of it, but she ignored me completely. I shrugged. In my opinion, everyone deserves their own little quirks. It's what makes us all different. Personally, I predicted a sharp defeat for Daphne if she tried anything on me. Not that I could see why she would want to. Admittedly, she had been embarrassed by Harry's question and her unfortunate response, but I did not think that merited much of a comeback.

The bell rang and I began to pack my things away as the room filled with the faint murmur of quiet chatter.

"I'll speak to you outside," she snapped, and strode gracefully off. I watched her go with a raised eyebrow, then turned back to my instruments, which I placed carefully back into their padded case. Gently I closed the lid and snapped it shut, then shrunk it and put it in my bag.

Eventually the room was empty except for me and Snape, sitting behind his desk.

He steepled his fingers and looked at me.

"My father sends his regards," I said.

He inclined his head, but said nothing, subjecting me instead to a close scrutiny.

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable when he finally spoke.

"I have the good fortune of being a friend of your father's," he said, "and for that reason I pity you."

I blinked.

"Pity me, sir?"

He nodded. "You have — most unfortunately — befriended Potter and his clique.

**Well, there we go. I'm not sure where Snape's going with this. Sorry it's been so long, but exams are drawing near and I'm working myself to the bone to make sure I get the marks. Anyway, read and review, as usual!**

**Recommendation for this chapter: Delenda Est, by Lord Silvere. Really great Harry/Bella fic. And believable, unlike many.**


	8. Rewrites

**Well, like the addendum to the fic summary says, I'm trying to rewrite this. My main gripe is that my Vladimir seems too powerful, both magically and temporally - i.e., he has too much dough and status. I mean, what was I thinking - Royalty? Argh the complications. So, here are my attempts at rewrites. Read 'em and let me know.**

**Rewrite of the first chapter, toning down Vladimir's money and status problem.**

At the end of my fourth year of study at the Zápolyai Academy of Sorcery, my father made a decision that changed my life. He decided, with the advice of my teachers, to send me to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in England.

It was a warm night in mid-July, and we were staying the Rákóczi summer residence.

Standing with me on a balcony overlooking the Mureșul River, he tapped his fingernails on the balustrade thoughtfully before speaking.

"Vlad," he began, then stopped. I tilted my head, waiting.

"You know who you are," he said slowly, looking up at the night sky, "and you know what your duties are and will be. I — we," he amended, as my mother emerged onto the balcony with a rustle of silken robes to stand on my other side, leaning on the railings, "have been considering your position." He stopped again, clearly searching for a way to phrase what was coming. The atmosphere was tense, and I tried to dispel it.

"Father," I said, injecting fake — I hoped — worry into my voice, "you're not thinking about disowning me, are you?"

It worked, and my father laughed. My mother ruffled my hair.

"Silly boy," she murmured affectionately.

My father grinned and turned to face me, resting a hand on the balustrade.

"We've been thinking about your education at the Academy, and we've come to the conclusion that the courses at the Academy, while certainly useful, are not what you need for your future."

"We feel," my mother cut in, leaning forwards as I turned my head to face her, "that if you carry on at the Academy, you will grow up with a very conservative and aggressive mindset. While this may be useful in your future, you will also be inflexible and intolerant to innovation. There are too many such for you to become another such."

"Like General Kóyalevski?" I commented, and she laughed.

"So we decided that the time had come for you to finish your education at a different school," she continued.

"Which one?" I asked.

"Hogwarts," my father answered.

I turned and looked out across the river thoughtfully. The change would be…interesting.

I am Vladimir Rákóczi, second son of Prince Ferenc VII Rákóczi, the head of the ancient Rákóczi family of Transylvania, one of the oldest wizarding families in our part of the world. Our Royal lineage can be traced back hundreds of years to György I, ruler of Transylvania in the seventeenth century; beyond that we are not Royal but merely Ancient and Noble, back to the foundation of the line in 115 by the Emperor Trajan. Though I am not the heir to that family, on my mother's side — Princess Irene Ţepeş — I am the heir of Vlad Ţepeş, the Impaler, ruler of Wallachia in the fifteenth century, known better as Dracula. It brings little in the form of land — the Ţepeş estate has been whittled down over the years to just a couple of large manors and perhaps ten thousand hectares — but it nevertheless has a comfortable income of twenty thousand galleons a year and a considerable amount of prestige. After all, the heir of Dracula is something to be respected, no?

I had been studying at the Zápolyai Academy of Sorcery, in the Carpathian Alps, for four years. During those four years, I had risen through the student ranking tables to be near the top of each subject in my year — the result both of my own inherent intelligence and the intensive tutoring I received whenever I was at home.

In the Inter-House Championships, I helped propel my House to victory year after year. The Championships were dependent on two things: one, the prowess of the students in their subjects; and second, the Houses' performance in the Duelling Tournament.

The Duelling Tournament was exactly what it sounded like: teams of the six best duellists from each House in each year fighting it out over the course of the academic year, in a series of set events. One-on-ones, team events, survival bouts…whatever the teachers chose. The House that proved the overall victors won the crown, and usually the Inter-House Championship as well. From my second year onwards — first years could not take part — I was the Champion Duellist for my age-group, though in my fourth (and last) year there I also proved myself a match for the sixth year Champion.

For all that, I could understand my parents' concern. It was true: the Academy was, first and foremost, a combat school. The students there were generally second and third sons, destined for careers as soldiers, officers, or Aurors. As a result of the culture of the nation, graduates emerged with an in-built reactionary and conservative nature. The move would be sensible if I was not to become a stale, rigid, and hidebound officer.

Plus Zápolyai was an all-male school, and I would be fifteen in August. Huzzah for hormones.

With that in mind, I had only one question.

"So why didn't you send me there from the start?" I asked.

My parents exchanged a look.

"Well," my father answered, "Hogwarts is not known for producing students with good combat skills…"

Nodding, I interrupted. "I see."

I glanced up at the stars for a moment.

"When does the term start?"

… … … … … … …

I leant back in my chair and sighed.

"Are you alright?" my mother asked.

"Yes," I replied, "I'm fine." I looked across the room at her.

She was sitting at her writing desk, but not writing anything. An elbow rested on the desktop, her hand supporting her head. Her bright blue eyes watched me intently. Despite my age, she still felt that I was her little baby. I held her gaze calmly.

My father, sitting in an armchair by the fire, chuckled quietly, and my mother glanced at him.

"What's amusing you, Ferenc?" she asked.

"You two," he said. "If it wasn't for his eyes you might be twins, he looks so much like you."

She smiled.

"Well, better that than look like you," she replied, laughter gleaming in her eyes.

"Are you implying something, Irene?" my father demanded in mock anger.

I laughed; I couldn't help it. I always found this sort of joking about irresistibly funny.

The tall grandfather clock in the corner struck loudly: boom, boom, boom … seven times. My parents and I stood up.

"Time, Vladimir," my father said. I nodded and checked my belongings: wands in wrist holsters, one on each wrist; bottomless, weightless money bag on chain round neck; Gringotts chequebook; enchanted pouch with various items; trunks shrunk and in pockets; warding necklace; Heir's signet rings — plural, yes — on appropriate fingers; all check. I looked up and smiled at my parents, who smiled back. Taking a step forwards, they each put a hand on my shoulders. I raised my hands and placed them over theirs.

"Be good," my mother murmured, then giggled. "Seriously though," she added, "don't bring dishonour or disgrace to yourself — or by extension the family."

"Remember that you are not merely Noble, nor even Ancient and Noble, but Ancient and Royal. You are the heir to more magical properties than many others. You will be a Prince twice over, a Duke twice over, a Marquis, a Count…"

"Stop it, father," I protested. I find it somewhat embarrassing to have it all listed out.

He laughed and squeezed my shoulder before letting go.

"Make us proud, son," he said, before standing back and handing me the portkey — a slightly ornate fountain pen. I flashed a smile at my parents, standing in front of me arm in arm, murmured the activation word, "Dracula," and the world spun away from me in a flash of colour.

My feet hit the floor and stayed still, but my body kept spinning. I ended up sprawled on the ground, my arm twisted painfully underneath me. Most embarrassing. Not something I have much practice in.

I began to scramble up and nearly poked my eye out on a hand that suddenly appeared in my field of vision. I clasped it and was hauled to my feet by its owner, a tall, bald, slightly stout man.

"Thank you," I said, straightening my tangled robes and messed hair. It is not becoming to my dignity to appear in any manner except immaculate.

The man smiled.

"Don't mention it. Older and better wizards than you have problems with these things."

He proffered his hand, this time to shake. "Eduard Mansell, of the Romanian Embassy."

I shook hands. Good, firm handshake, he has.

"Vladimir Rákóczi. Pleased to meet you." I replied. The reason for the lack of formality in our speech was that, at the moment, I was not in my capacity as Marquis Presumptive Rákóczi, Prince Presumptive of Transylvania, Heir Presumptive of the Duchy of the Carpathians, Count Apparent Ţepeş, Prince Apparent of Wallachia and Heir Apparent of the Duchy of the Romanian Danube. I was merely a student coming over. A high-ranking student, but a student nevertheless.

"Same to you," he said, grinning affably. "If you will follow me to my office, I will deal with all the paperwork."

I glanced around me as I followed him. We were in a small room, devoid of furnishings but with, as I noticed, a very soft thick-pile carpet.

"Is this room just for people to portkey into?" I asked.

"Yes, actually. That's why there's no furniture," he replied, leading me down a long corridor with plenty of doors opening off the sides, nameplates on each one. Eventually we came to one with his name on it. He pushed open the door and ushered me in. Dominating the room was a large mahogany desk, with a couple of comfortable but austere-looking chairs in front of it. He went round to his side, gesturing at one of the chairs.

"Please, sit down," he said, opening a drawer and pulling out a sheaf of parchments. "Now then. These are your entry papers into the UK. I just need to sign a few, you sign a couple, then I can have them all processed and you get your nine-month study visa." He riffled through them and picked out a sheet. "Here," he continued, "you'll like this one. It basically says that you can use magic here in the UK as long as you agree to use it responsibly and not in the presence of Muggles. It needs the signature of the Romanian Ambassador and yours; he's already signed." He handed it to me, along with a quill. "I'll just sort out any other ones that you need to sign. Shouldn't take more than five minutes."

I took the parchment and glanced over it quickly. I couldn't see any problem or hidden catch, so I signed with a flourish on the line.

Mansell handed me a few more parchments, which I signed, and then gathered them all up with another smile. "There, that's that. I'll just have someone take you to the hotel where you'll be staying and show you how to get to the magical area of London, and then you need not come back here until the summer."

**And that's as far as I got with the first re-write. Then I scrapped that one and rewrote the entire thing from the most fundamental part, as below:**

_**3 January 1982**_

_**Rákóczi Castle, Transylvania, Romania**_

"_My lord! My lord!"_

_Vladimir blinked awake fuzzily, squinting at the bright light filling the room. A man stood bent over him, gripping his shoulder and shaking him._

"_Wake up, my lord!" he hissed urgently, darting a quick glance over his shoulder. Yawning, Vladimir sat up and blinked sleepily at the man._

"_Istvaan?" he mumbled, "Too bright, can't see."_

_The light shining from the end of Istvaan's wand dimmed and he smacked Vladimir's cheek gently to try to wake him up properly._

"_Quick, my lord. Get dressed, we have not much time," Istvaan urged, half helping, half pulling Vladimir out of bed and onto the floor._

"_W-why?" Vladimir asked, beginning to feel frightened at the older man's mood. Istvaan snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared with a crack. It was dishevelled and distraught, eyes wide and teary and toga-like uniform askew. Soot blackened part of its face._

"_Quick, elf," Istvaan snapped, beckoning it nearer impatiently, "get the Prince Secundo dressed, now!" As the elf immediately set to, stripping Vladimir's nightshirt off and tidying him up, he turned and hurried over to the door where he pressed his ear against it. "Travelling clothes, elf, you hear? Fast!" he added, then cast a Patronus charm. A glistening white squirrel leapt from the end of his wand and darted through the neighbouring wall._

"_What's going on?" Vladimir asked plaintively, as the elf helped him on with his boots._

_Istvaan glanced at him, and a brief flicker of emotion crossed his harsh, rock-chiselled face. Glancing away again, he replied, "You'll know soon enough, my Lord."_

_A tap sounded at the window, and in the blink of an eye Istvaan was between the window and Vladimir, wand at the ready._

"_Istvaan!" a low voice hissed, and he relaxed._

"_Ladislaus," he replied, moving towards the window and pulling Vladimir behind him, "finally!"_

"_Hurry," the voice said, as Istvaan slid the window open, revealing a grey-haired man in a dark green travelling cloak hovering outside on a broom._

"_Hurry," he said, holding out his arms, "give him to me!"_

"_What…" Vladimir began, but Istvaan clamped a hand over his mouth and hissed, "Quiet, my Lord, quiet or…" he broke off with a muttered curse as Vladimir bit his hand hard._

"_I am the Prince Secundo and I demand…" Vladimir shouted shrilly before Ladislaus hit him with a stunner and Istvaan shoved him into the other man's arms._

"_Quick, Colonel," Istvaan shouted as he whirled round and made for the door, "go!"_

_He barely made it halfway across the room when the door shattered, splinters shooting out in a cloud, and three hooded red-robed wizards burst in._

"_He's escaping!" one cried, pointing his wand out of the window at Ladislaus, who was fumbling with the limp form of the four-year-old Vladimir while trying to pull away from the window. The wizard who'd shouted began to say a spell, but screamed as his arm burst before he could finish. Istvaan scrambled up from the floor where he'd fallen when the door exploded, casting another spell at the howling wizard which hurled him into the wall. A fierce duel erupted between Istvaan and the red-robed wizards as outside, Ladislaus finally managed to get the broom under control and Vladimir's limp form steady, and shot off. He glanced over his shoulder as he went, casting a last glance at the imposing form of the Rákóczi castle from which he had just rescued the younger heir. Already the red, sickle-and-hammer-emblazoned flag of the Soviet Union was fluttering from the flagpole atop the tallest tower, and the thin trickles of smoke from the several broken windows were already petering out. His lips thinned into a firm line and he turned sharply away, fixing his gaze ahead where he could see the two figures of his comrades, Colonel Míhaly Beredry and Major Irene Thökoly, who had on their respective brooms the seven-year-old Prince Primo Ferenc Rákóczi, and the two-year old Princess Illyana Rákóczi — now the only surviving members of the Ancient and Royal Family of Rákóczi, the Princes Regnant of Transylvania._

_A body fell silently through the air, tumbling down, about twenty feet away; he glanced up to see the faint flicker of spellfire up in the skies as the few of the Rákóczi Guard who had managed to take to the air held off the Soviet riders from the fugitives below._

_Shouts split the silence of the night behind him, echoing out across the moonlit forest and plain, booming out orders in Russian. A few seconds later spellfire streamed up towards him, but with a bit of skilful manoeuvring he managed to avoid the Soviet troops' fire. Glancing forwards he saw the forms of his compatriots blur momentarily as they passed the anti-Apparition and anti-Portkeying wards the Soviets had set up; a second later they had vanished. He put on a burst of speed and passed through the wards just as a Reductor curse clipped his broom. Gritting his teeth as he spun wildly he took one hand off his broom and fumbled in his robes for the portkey; with a grunt of satisfaction he found it in a pocket and activated it. He vanished just in time to escape the vivid green of a Killing curse that sliced through the space where he had been._

_Behind, the Soviet flag unfurled and billowed out over the Rákóczi's ancestral home._

…

**Twelve years later**

**19 July 1994**

**Chardham Manor, Hampshire, England, UK**

Vladimir sat down on the grass with an exhausted sigh. His sister passed him a bottle of chilled Butterbeer, smiling a little.

"What's the matter, big brother?" she asked, her tone playful. "Annoyed because you still can't beat the Colonel?" She ducked the tired punch he threw at her and laughed.

"No," Vladimir replied, popping the bottle top off. He raised it to his lips and drained it in one draught. "But you'd be annoyed if he beat you by summoning your robes and then hitting you in the groin while you were distracted. Not an impressive way to go." He dropped the bottle on the ground and slumped back, pillowing his head on his arms and closing his eyes.

"Hmm…" Illyana mused, twisting strands of her long black hair in her fingers. "I'm not convinced that the Colonel wouldn't be more distracted than me if he vanished my robes in the middle of a duel. I generally don't wear anything under them when I'm fighting — too hot."

"You know," Vladimir growled, keeping his eyes closed, "I really did not need to hear that."

"Hear what?" a new voice asked, and Vladimir's eyes shot open.

"Ferenc!" he shouted, leaping to his feet and seizing his elder brother in a bear hug.

"Whoa, little cub," Ferenc said, staggering slightly backwards, "break my ribs, why don't you?"

He grasped Vladimir's shoulders and held him away at arm's length, looking him up and down carefully. The two made an interesting contrast: the six foot four Ferenc every inch the epitome of Rákóczi grandeur, all yellow hair, pale skin, blue eyes, strong jaw and Roman nose; Vladimir four inches shorter and also slighter, with the black hair, delicate and angular features and dark brown, almost black eyes of their mother's family, the Ancient and Royal family of Tepes. Their sister, Illyana, standing beside them, had a blend of both: the black hair, delicate features and darker complexion of the Tepes' with the Roman nose and blue eyes of the Rákóczis.

"You've grown since I've last seen you," Ferenc said, frowning in mock annoyance.

Vladimir arched an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I was under the impression that you'd shrunk, brother."

Ferenc laughed.

"I wonder…" he murmured, then flashed a sudden grin at his younger brother. "Let's see how much you've learnt while I've been gone!"

Without bothering to reply, Vladimir cast a wordless, wandless Thrusting spell that threw Ferenc forty feet away. Baring his teeth in a feral grin, he unsheathed his wand and assumed a duelling pose.

"One love, brother!" he shouted, then stumbled and fell as a whiplash curled round his ankles and yanked them out from under him.

…

Vladimir pressed his back against a tree in the middle of a copse, panting heavily. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and forced his trembling limbs to be still, calming his core.

"Homenium revelio," he murmured, opening his eyes as the transparent wave rippled through the forest. About twenty metres away to his left there was a blue flash, moving slowly towards him. He smiled slightly.

"Kllte kä'ärìp kxutu," he muttered, pressing his wand into the dirt at his feet.

For a second nothing happened, then there was a faint rumble followed by a muffled yelp of surprise. Vladimir's smile widened.

"Ya txep takuk kxutu!" he snapped, twisting his wand in a circular pattern in his brother's direction. A widening spiral of flame swirled towards him, flickering harmlessly round the trees. He heard a shouted burst of profanity and then a sizzling noise.

The next thing Vladimir knew, a cloud of angrily buzzing wasps erupted from the trees and swarmed towards him, his brother running behind them with his wand held high.

"Shite!" he yelled, leaping back. He tripped and fell over on his back, cracking his head on a root. Stars danced in his eyes momentarily and then the wasps were on him.

He screamed and frantically brandished his wand in a sweeping motion over himself, Banishing all the wasps away. Scrambling up, he flicked his wand, snapping, "Tsre'i neto kxutu!"

The wasps went hurtling off, only to vanish in midair as a white whiplash darted through them straight at Vladimir's face. He summoned up a shield and blocked it, retaliating by sending a conjured ice spear straight at his brother, who dodged it and shot a series of Stunners at him. Vladimir cast a Protego and jumped backwards — right into a large branch that was swinging fast in the opposite direction. His head collided with it, stars exploded behind his eyes, and he collapsed onto the ground unconscious.

…

Vladimir blinked awake. He groaned and rubbed the back of his head as he sat up.

"Awake then?" Ferenc asked, his face moving fuzzily into focus. His brow was slightly furrowed with worry.

Vladimir grinned.

"Absolutely fine…" he stood up, swayed, and clutched his head, "apart from the headache you've given me."

"Sorry," Ferenc grinned sheepishly.

"Don't be," Vladimir replied, punching him in the shoulder. "That's kinda the point of this, wasn't it, to see how good I was."

"He's right," Illyana agreed, handing Vladimir a goblet with a cold-steaming potion inside. "Analgesia," she said, in response to his query, then to Ferenc she added, "If you don't be as hard as possible, Vladimir won't get any better."

"True, I suppose," Ferenc mused, then murmured, "and it would be a shame if ickle Vladimir didn't learn anything, wouldn't it?"

"Hey," Vladimir growled, shrinking the now-empty goblet and stowing it in his pocket. "Enough with the ickle, alright? I'm sixteen now, remember?"

Ferenc laughed as they began to head back towards the tiled roofs in the distance that marked their home, deep in the English countryside.

"Sixteen," he grinned, touching Vladimir on the chest. "Nineteen," he added, indicating himself. "I get to call you ickle if I want."

Vladimir shot a mock-angry sideways glance at Ferenc. "Pxtxawng," he muttered, drawing a hefty shove from his elder brother.

"So, Ferenc," Illyana asked, looping her left arm through Ferenc's right, "how are you finding work?"

"So-so," he replied, "not brilliant but not bad either. Beats being an accountant, I guess, but still…I can't say I'm cut out for the diplomatic career. Anyway, forget me. It's not time to discuss that. I want to know about you two. How's school?"

"Great!" Illyana grinned. "I've got my first boyfriend!"

Ferenc stopped dead and stared at his little sister. "You what?"

"I know, right?" Vladimir said, shaking his head. "I couldn't believe it either."

"Illyana, you're **- and that's as far as I got on this one. Huh. Yes, he's using Na'vi spells.**

**I'm not at all sure that I should re-write it at all. I'm seriously thinking about just carrying on with the original story.**

**I'm putting up a poll on my profile page, where you can vote for which one I should do. Please let me know!**

**Also I need a beta for this fic.**

**In other news, I'm starting writing a Mentor! Voldemort fic, with Dark! or at least Grey! Harry. I need a beta for that as well.**

**Thanks, bods!**

**Recommendation for this chapter: Brown Coat, Green Eyes, by Nonjon. A brilliant Harry Potter/Firefly crossover. I especially love his interactions with River. Amazing and funny. Read it.**


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